Reaching Out
by ramsc
Summary: What I think would've happened if Katniss realized her feelings for Peeta before the Victory Tour! Will go well into or past MJ. Everything belongs to Suzanne Collins.
1. Chapter 1

Please read and review! Everything belongs to Suzanne Collins!

I stand motionless as snow begins to fall on District 12. The air stings my lungs as I breathe in, but still, I don't go inside. Not back to my bed and the faces of the people I killed. I look across the courtyard of Victor's Village, where I know he's awake. Painting. Baking. I notice that his bedroom windows are open. I feel a pang of longing hit my chest, and I can't ignore it. Not tonight, when the night—so dark, but interrupted by long rectangles of light from his lit windows-is full of him. I close my eyes and let myself remember the blue of his eyes in the darkness of the cave. Full of light. Love. His eyes on the train, empty. Hurt.

My feet carry me to his door, maybe subconsciously, maybe not. They carry me to the last person with whom I felt safe.

"Peeta," I breathe. He stands in the light of the hallway, just staring blankly at me. There are smudges of paint on his left cheek. Gray paint. I don't know how long I stand in front of him, unable to breathe, unable to speak. But eventually, he stands aside, silently letting me in. I step forward hesitantly. I'm not sure if being here is good or bad, but I'm tired of the space between our houses hanging between us like an interrupted sentence.

"Katniss," he says, his voice hard. "What are you doing here?"

"I couldn't sleep," I respond. He chuckles mirthlessly, and I look at my feet.

"So you need me now, do you?" Peeta asks, looking at me like he finally sees me for who I am. I turn to go, because this was a mistake. Of course he's stopped loving me. Just when I realize the mistake I've made. Just when I'm ready to admit that I miss him. If I were him, I wouldn't love me either. "Wait," he calls, just as my hand touches the doorknob. "Katniss, wait," he says again, but his voice is gentler this time. I stand there, frozen, letting the sound of his voice warm my cold fingers. Letting the memories of five months ago work their way through me until my heart doesn't feel like a frozen block of ice in my chest. I smile to myself.

"I had a nightmare, and when I woke up, I—" I stumble over the words, because I'm not sure what I want to say and I don't know how I feel. But I have to say something. "I just want you to know that it wasn't fair to let you think that I loved you when I was just trying to keep us alive."

"So it was an act. That's it," Peeta replies, his voice devoid of any emotion. I finally turn around.

"I think I finally figured it out," I whisper. My voice is barely audible, but my eyes don't leave his. The space between us feels electric, and he looks up at me through his eyelashes. Something heats up in the pit of my stomach, and suddenly, his lips are on mine.

The months of lost time fade away to dust as his hands hold my face steady. As his lips move against mine. I don't see the faces of the people that were slaughtered in front of me. The only things I've seen since I've come back. Instead, I see him smiling up at me in our cave. I see his eyes on the stage after we won the Games. I see him bleeding to death on the Cornucopia. I see the doctors taking him away from me. Maybe I was trying to keep us alive during the Games, but there was a part of me that started to fall in love with him. A part of me that has been buried deep inside of me my entire life, a part of me that is stunted and malnourished, a part of me I wasn't ready to accept. I break away from him, trying to catch my breath.

I look at him, suddenly terrified of what I've discovered. Terrified of myself, of the damage I can do to people. Terrified that loving him will make me as weak as my mother. But his eyes are the same whether in the rain of District 12 or the shining lights of the Capitol, and my fears suddenly aren't so urgent.

"I'm afraid," I tell him anyway. "I'm afraid that loving you will make me weak. Vulnerable, or something. I don't know how to put it into words," I finish lamely. He smiles at me, and I flush a little. I'm not the one that's good with words. That's Peeta.

"I know. It wasn't fair of me to hold you to what you did in the Games. If it weren't for you, I wouldn't be alive. And it wasn't fair for me to expect you to return my feelings that quickly, especially during the Games. I acted like a child. But I'm willing to start over if you are."

I laugh a little at this, because starting over is impossible. Not with the Games. Not with the unspoken history that linger between us. "We don't need to start over. We can't forget the Games, or what we've been through together," I say. "But I know that I need you. So I'm willing to try. To start off slow." His eyebrows knit together, and he opens his mouth to speak again.

"What about Gale?" He asks, and I almost laugh at the question. Gale, my best friend. The man that knows me better than anyone else. The man that has confessed his love for me and all I felt was uncomfortable. The man that will never understand me as well as Peeta does now. Now that the Games have changed me, after the Games left a level of psychological scar tissue that only a victor would understand.

"What about him?" is all I say back, shrugging my shoulders. He laughs a little bit, and throws an arm around me. I shudder a little, then lean into him and sigh. I'm starved for human contact, after months of waking up screaming in the middle of the night, greeted only by darkness and the echo of mockingjay songs in my ears.

"So the Victory Tour," Peeta says, and I roll my eyes.

"The Victory Tour is going to be unbearable," I mutter.

"You mean you're not excited to tour the country with Effie and Haymitch?" He asks, smile widening when he sees my scowl.

"Absolutely not." Peeta laughs at me, and my scowl deepens.

"You know it starts tomorrow, right?" Peeta asks, and I nearly jump out of my skin.

"No way. That can't be right," I say, and mentally count the months, the weeks, the days until I realize that of course it's tomorrow. "I've barely slept in weeks. My prep team is going to kill me. I should go," I say as I hurry to the door, but Peeta catches my arm. When I turn, his eyes are desperate.

"Please, stay. Please. I get them, too. I stay up all night painting to try and make them better. Please, Katniss," he begs.

So I let him lead me to his bedroom, where, for the first time since Prim's name was drawn from the reaping bowl, I fall into a dreamless sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

Sunlight, halting at first, creeps in through my bedroom window, turning everything in the room the color of gold. I stretch, just a little, because I'm comfortable and don't want to move too much. My eyes, which were drowsy with sleep just two seconds before, shoot open when my finger makes contract with another human body. I sit straight up in the bed, which isn't mine, I realize, but Peeta's. I whip my head to the sides, looking around the room frantically. Should I leave? Should I stay? Should I even have come here last night?

I see a piece of small white paper on the nightstand, so I lean over and pick it up. When I lift it up to read it, I see that it's written in straight, bold handwriting that has to be Peeta's:

_Katniss:_

_I know you're going to panic and question everything that happened last night. But please don't, because I couldn't stand it if you left me again. Remember, even though I love you (endlessly, to the moon and back, like a little boy), I'm not putting any pressure on you. You said we could take it slow and that's exactly what I intend to do. So whenever you wake up, don't leave. Please._

_-Peeta_

A small smile turns up the corners of my mouth and I clutch the note to my chest. I feel lighter. Yesterday, the day before, and all the months that preceded them, I felt heavy with guilt. Longing. Millions of other feelings I couldn't name and was too scared to think about.

I look down at Peeta, lying on his back with his arms crossed above him. His hair is a little damp, and there's color in his face. His lower lip juts out just a little bit. I find myself studying his face, taking in the little things that I couldn't in the Games because, well, we were in the Games. And I didn't want to stare at him for too long. But now that he's asleep, I can look at him for as long as I want. His eyelashes are light brown, and so long I don't know how they don't get tangled up. There's a small freckle under his left eye and a white scar on his chin. I've never noticed how high his cheekbones were before, or how perfectly shaped his nose was. And his mouth. I reach out a hesitant hand, brushing the damp hair off his forehead, running my thumb over the corner of his mouth. A long sigh escapes him, and I think he's about to wake up. But I don't tear my eyes or my hand away. I just brush my thumb over his jawline, feeling my chest swell with something unfamiliar. My thumb has made its way back to his mouth when his eyelids flutter open. He looks disoriented for a moment, but when he sees me, he's awake.

"Katniss," he says in a voice that's hoarse and heavy with sleep.

"Hmm?" I murmur, brushing the hair out of his eyes.

"You stayed," he whispers.

"You knew me well enough to leave a note telling me not to panic," I say back. I meet his eyes, a little scared of what I'll see. But I see his steadfast blue eyes, telling me he has no indecision about me. Telling me just to give him a little bit of myself. So I smile. "I've missed you." My voice comes out sounding like my mother's.

He smiles at me, and brushes a stray piece of hair away from my face. "Missed you too. Are you hungry? I think we have a few hours before the prep teams get here."

I groan and fall back into the bed. I had completely forgotten, yet again, about the Victory Tour. "Damn this Tour. Why can't they just take you and leave me? You're the eloquent one," I complain. Peeta rolls his eyes at me and pulls me out of bed.

"Because I wouldn't be eloquent without you by my side," he says, and while I laugh as he pulls me by my ankles out of the bed, like a sack of potatoes, my heart beats just a little bit faster.


	3. Chapter 3

Peeta and I are sitting in his sunroom when they arrive, drinking mint tea and sharing a blanket. I sigh, and lean my head against his shoulder. He drops a small kiss on my forehead. A smile creeps onto my lips, and the feeling spreads slowly through my body, like honey.

"I don't want to go," I murmur, taking a drink of my tea.

"It'll only be a few hours. Then we'll have two whole weeks together. You'll probably get tired of me," he says, and I hear genuine concern in his voice. I look up at him and laugh a little.

"If that happens then I'll just throw you off the back of the train," I say back. He smiles a little bit, but it doesn't reach his eyes.

"It's funny. All my life, I dreamed of the day I would get to be with you. I never really considered what I would do if it actually happened," he says. "I guess now that I have you, I'm afraid I'll lose you."

"I felt that way on the last train," I admit. He raises his eyebrows at me but I don't elaborate. I just look out across the courtyard, knowing that any minute, I'll have to get up and leave. "Don't be afraid, Peeta," I add, because the worried look hasn't left. "I'm here, you're here. After going through what we did together, walking away isn't much of an option anymore. You're the only one who understands me, the only one who was there during…" I stop, not knowing how to phrase it. "During the worst time in my life. You saved me, more than once, and I'm not just talking about saving my life. Peeta, you saved _me._" I blush and stop talking, because I've just revealed too much. But he smiles down at me, and runs the back of his hand along my forehead.

"The last few months have been awful," he says. Cinna and the prep team are about to reach my front door, so I sigh and lean forward to get up. "Katniss," Peeta says. I turn around.

Peeta pulls me to him so quickly I'm amazed that we don't hit heads. His lips come down on mine hard, but it doesn't hurt. Instead, I feel something in the pit of my stomach, like hunger. My hands reach up to his face, and one of his hands is on my neck. When he pulls away, I close the space between us, forgetting Cinna and the Victory Tour. I swing a leg to one side of his lap so I'm sitting on top of him, and he entangles a hand in my hair. When I lean back to take a breath, his lips are on mine again and again and again. I don't know how long we sit, wrapped around each other, exploring each other, but when I hear a cough behind me, I almost fall off the couch.

"Hey there, Girl on Fire," Cinna says, amused. I'm sure if I looked in a mirror, my face would be bright red.

"Christ," I say, getting up quickly and patting my hair down. Peeta stands up to shake Cinna's hand, completely unperturbed. He grins down at me easily and I scowl.

"Alright, Katniss. I'll see you in a couple of hours," Peeta says, leaning down to give me a chaste kiss on the cheek. "Have fun. I'm going to wake Haymitch up."

"Bye," I say in a surly voice. I turn to Cinna. "Please. Do not tell my mother what you just saw." Cinna just laughs and gives me a hug. "Why is it just you over here?"

"Oh, your mother told us that you called her this morning to tell her where you were. So when she relayed that information to us, Effie volunteered to come get you. I thought I would spare you the trouble," Cinna winks at me and I breathe a sigh of relief.

"Effie's wig would've fallen off if she saw me and Peeta kissing like that," I say, laughing. As we walk out the front door, I follow Peeta's blond head across the courtyard as he walks to Haymitch's house.

"Things going well, then?" Cinna asks, noticing where I shifted my attention. I look at Cinna. His hair is a little longer than the last time I see him, but other than that, he is remarkably unchanged. Cinna, one of my one true friends. So I smile at him.

"You could say so. I guess it took me six months to realize why I felt so lonely and to figure out who I was missing," I explain. The words come out sounding a little pathetic.

"Better late than never," Cinna philosophizes. "Brace yourself," he warns as we reach my front door. "Effie is feeling rather predatory today."

"Great," I say darkly, pushing my front door open.

It takes me two hours to be prepped for a train ride to District 11. Prim sits with me the whole time, talking my ear off about school and her friends. I watch her as she speaks, smile when she laughs, and ask myself the entire time when it was that she grew up. She doesn't wear her blond hair in braids anymore, but in a wavy tumble down her back. Her face has thinned a little bit, making her look more adult.

"I'm going to miss you when I'm gone, little duck," I say, cutting into one of her anecdotes about Buttercup. She grins at me.

"I'll miss you, too," she replies, then drops her voice to a whisper. "So what happened last night?" I look over my shoulder to see if my mother is in earshot, but she's somewhere downstairs, laughing with Effie. I roll my eyes. Of course Mom and Effie would get along. I turn back to Prim.

"I had a nightmare, and went out on the porch to think, I guess," I say. The muscles in my stomach tighten, because the only person I'm used to loving is Prim. And I'm scared.

"I won't tell anyone," she says. I laugh and rub my sweaty hands against the dress Cinna put me in.

"I know you won't, little duck. This is just different for me," I say.

"I know. Keep going."

"I don't know, I guess I just felt lonely. It'd been so long since I'd actually _seen_ Peeta, so long since I'd heard his voice that I started going crazy thinking about what I'd done. I told him it was an act, you know that already, and it was at first. Then, I guess at some point during the Games, something changed. It was real. And it took me so long to figure out. I felt guilty, and I missed him. So I went over there and we talked. Reconnected, I guess," I finish lamely, and when I look at Prim, she's smiling at me.

"Better late than never," she says, and I smack her gently in the arm.

"That's what Cinna told me," I laugh, tousling her hair. "And when I went to leave, he told me that he has nightmares, too, and he asked me to stay. So I did."

"So are you two together?" she asks. I allow myself one small grin and say,

"It would appear that way."

I walk downstairs, thankful that Cinna put me in fur boots instead of the ridiculous high heels Effie would've made me wear if she were my stylist. I'm wearing a long dress, but it's made out of some strange material that prevents me from getting cold. That was nice of Cinna and all, but I'm sweating bullets in this damn dress because of the heat inside.

When I get to the front door, everyone is crowded around it, peeking out the windows. My mother looks particularly excited, and when she turns to look at me, she's smiling. I promised myself during the Games that, if I came back alive, I would try to fix things with my mother. So here I am, trying. I smile back at her and she comes to hug me. She whispers in my ear, "I'm so proud of you." I pull back and look at her, knowing that she means that she's proud of who I've become. But it still stings a little, knowing that I had to kill other children to get here. Four children.

"Thanks, Mom. How long do we have?" I ask to the general crowd. It's Effie, of course, who spins around to beam at me. She has this way about her, the way that only she can have, that makes me irritated at her even when she's smiling.

"Fifteen minutes until you and Peeta walk out and have your reunion," she says in that high pitched, bird voice. I push down the scowl that comes to my face and force a smile.

"Reunion?"

"Yes, President Snow thought it best to have you presented this way. Speaking of, you have a guest, Katniss," she chirps at me, though she looks nervous.

"What? We have to leave in fifteen minutes!" I almost shout, because I have a feeling this 'visitor' of mine won't be anyone good.

"He promised he would make it quick. Please, Katniss, put on your best face and don't embarrass me," Effie scolds. This time, I don't hide my scowl as she pushes me towards the first floor study.

As she opens the door, I turn and practically spit out at her, "Fine." I turn and walk into the study, rolling my eyes and dreading having to speak with anyone right now.

When I see who is sitting in the chair behind my desk, I lose my breakfast.

"Katniss," President Snow says in that curt, snakelike voice of his. I fake a smile.

"Sir," I reply in a convincing tone. "Why didn't you meet with me earlier this morning?"

"As I was told, you were very _busy_ this morning. So I figured I would wait for a while and enjoy your mother's delicious cookies. As well has her company," I look down at the tray in front of him that holds a half empty teacup and two sugar cookies. I frown at them. Those aren't my mother's. Peeta frosted those.

"Well, that sounds nice, sir. To what do I owe the pleasure?" I'm sure my voice sounds slightly manufactured, but he smiles at me. I suppress the urge to vomit again.

"Considering you vomited on the floor when you first saw me, I would hardly say this is pleasurable for you," he says.

"It's the nerves, President Snow. I'm very nervous about the tour and having such an important guest made the situation a little worse," I explain. My insides are tense with worry. I wish he would just spit it out already.

"That's understandable, Miss Everdeen. I'll get to the point as quickly as possible so you won't be late for your reunion with Mr. Mellark. It was brought to my knowledge that you and Mr. Mellark are, as they say, 'an item.'"

"Haven't we always been?" I ask.

"I'm going to flatter myself for a moment and assume that you would like to remain allies, if not friends," he says, dropping his voice. It is low and deadly now. I nod, because although I hate him and wish he were dead, I would like to be allies. For the sake of Prim's and my mother's lives. "In order to do that, we must agree to be truthful with one another. I'm aware that you two were not together for the large majority of the last six months, just as I'm sure you are aware that I am extremely unhappy about the conclusion of your Games."

"You want me dead," I whisper.

"Not necessarily. It would not surprise you, I'm sure, to find out that there is unrest in the districts. People are unhappy with the Capitol, and you provided a spark for them. Not everyone in the country saw your little stunt with the berries as an act of love," he monotones.

"President Snow, can I interrupt you for just a minute?" I ask, my teeth clenched. "You wanted us to be truthful with one another, and I'm going to present you with some truths. Yes, I was trying to keep Peeta and myself alive. But I fell in love with him during the Games, and it wasn't an act of defiance. I understand that the districts might not see that, but they will. Because I finally have. That's why we are, as you say, 'an item' now," I spit out at him. "I am not afraid of you, sir. Anybody with a brain can see that Peeta loves me, and on this Tour, they're going to see that I love him. They'll be convinced. Is that good enough for you?"

"No," he says, examining the sugar cookie that he's holding between his forefinger and thumb. He drops it back on the plate and stands up, brushing crumbs off his suit. He stops in front of the door. "Convince _me._"


	4. Chapter 4

I'm back in front of the door that leads to the courtyard, sweating even more profusely than I was before. How in the hell am I supposed to calm unrest in the districts? People will cling to the hope that someone's defying the Capitol. I'm not sure if I can reverse that. Hope is too strong of an emotion.

I look down at Prim and she smiles at me. I run my hand over her hair and give her a kiss on the forehead. "I'll see you soon, Prim," I say. She gives me a hug, squeezing me so tightly I can't breathe for a few seconds. I kiss her again, tears welling up in my eyes. I don't like saying goodbye to her. It reminds me of when I had to leave her for the Games. "I love you," I whisper in her ear. She gives me a watery smile.

"I love you, too," she whispers back. "Tell Peeta I say hi." I grin at her and turn to my mother. I give her a hug and tell her that I love her, then turn to the door and allow myself to feel the hammering in my chest that, all of a sudden, has nothing to do with President Snow and the rebelling districts. Somewhere, Effie announces that we have ten seconds to showtime. Sweat begins to collect in the creases of my palms, and when the doors open, the reflection of the weak sun against the snow blinds me for a moment. When my vision clears, I see Peeta walking gracefully out of his front door. The front door I stared at for what seems like hours before I decided to go to him. To tell him I was sorry. To tell him that I loved him.

Only I didn't tell him that. I told President Snow.

I don't notice I'm running until I'm almost to Peeta. He looks vibrant. Healthy. Happy. I launch myself at him, because I've never been more thankful that he is here, that he is alive, that he is mine.

We topple over into the snow and I stare at him for a few seconds. "You look happy," he whispers. I smile at him then press my lips to his, wishing that we were alone, wishing that the whole country wasn't watching us right now. Just as I had wished in the cave when I told him that he had no competition anywhere. I lift my hand to touch his face, and he kisses me harder.

I break away from the kiss, about to tell him that I missed him, when Effie clears her throat and says, "Alright, lovebirds. Let's get the train, shall we?" I can tell that if she weren't on television right now, she wouldn't be so pleasant. I get up, help Peeta to his feet, then lace my fingers through his.

"To the train?" he whispers to me, wiggling his eyebrows a little. I laugh and lean my head on his shoulder. Just for a moment. A second that's fleeting. But it feels good, even it's only physical, to lean on someone else. To not bear all of the burden; just for a moment, just for a second that's fleeting. He puts a small kiss on my forehead and we walk to the small black car that takes us to the train station.

In the car, Peeta asks how the rest of my morning went, and I bemoan being a woman and having to deal with three hour preparations for five minutes of television time. He tells me that, according to his prep team, we are still all the Capitolites can talk about. One of them even pulled out a small action figure set of him and me. I actually laugh out loud when he tells me that, and Haymitch turns around and stares at me like I've grown two heads.

Despite the visit from President Snow, I feel light. Free. Like the burden that weighed me down for the past six months is lightening with every second I'm with Peeta. When he puts his hand on my leg while he's laughing at something I say, I don't freeze up. I lean my head against him again and let myself stay there, feeling so wonderfully carefree and happy that I'm sure I'll remember that moment in particular, for the rest of my life.

We wave and smile at the cameras at the train station, say a few short, but happy words to the reporters there, and board the train. We head immediately for the viewing room in the trains back care, order a few cups of tea, and sit on a couch. The viewing room is my favorite room in the train, as its walls are comprised entirely of glass, giving me an almost 360 degree view of the landscape outside.

"It'll be weird seeing the other districts," I say to Peeta. "I don't even know what they'll look like."

"Well, I'm excited for District 4. I want to see the ocean," he responds. I want to wrinkle my nose, but I can't. District 4 is considered a career district; they have the second most victors in the country, second only to District 2. While I may feel disgust for the tributes they send to the Games every year, I would be lying if I said I had no interest in seeing the ocean. We've seen pictures in textbooks, while we were learning about each district's industry, but no district borders the ocean except for District 4. Only victors get to see the other districts.

"Me, too," I admit with a sigh. Peeta smiles at me like he understands. The train begins to move, slowly at first, then it gains momentum and chugs along steadily. "District 7 is the one I'm excited for. I wonder if there are more trees than the woods around 12," I say idly, because really, I'm not thinking about District 7. I'm thinking about how smooth Peeta's skin is, and how lean his body feels next to mine. How nice his mouth looks when he speaks. How white his teeth are, like the moon lit up by the sun. How I can't imagine that the ocean in District 4 is bluer than his eyes. When he starts to talk, I can't focus on his words, because his voice is too gentle and too songlike to hear the words; I just want to hear the cadence of it.

And all of a sudden, the words just drop out of my mouth, like they were the easiest thing in the world to say. Like they've been hidden in my mind all along. Like they were born and raised there, waiting to mature enough to be said.

"Peeta," I whisper, interrupting him. "I love you."


	5. Chapter 5

"Peeta," I call. "Where are you?" I know I should be more quiet, because there are still others. But panic is building inside my chest, making it tight, strangling me. "Peeta!" I scream again, because I can't control it any longer and it threatens to close its fingers around my throat.

It's dark, and I can't see where I'm going. I know we're somewhere with trees, dense trees, but I can't discern where. The only thing that registers is the smell of pine. The smell of panic. I hear a rustle and look up.

"Careful where you're going," a girl whispers. Her face is familiar, but I can't place where I know her from.

"Why?" I ask, curiosity stifling the panic.

"The clock is ticking, Katniss," she replies. "Tread carefully." She disappears, and the darkness by which I'm surrounded begins to tick, quieter, but more sinister than the countdown to the Games.

I walk for a long time, surrounded by darkness and the occasional face that pops up from out of the darkness.

"The girl on fire," Claudius Templesmith booms, seemingly unaware of the need to be quiet in this place.

"Be quiet," I whisper, looking around nervously.

"There's no need, Katniss. No need at all. There is no danger here," he cackles before melting back into the trees. His laugh echoes around the darkness, and I realize that it's much, much smaller than I thought it was.

My foot catches on something in the darkness, only when I reach down to pick it up, the place where I am lights up. I don't look around, however. Part of me is too frightened of what I'll see. I stoop down to the ground, which isn't damp and earthy anymore. It's sand. Find, white sand that clings to my fingers when I pick up the thing that tripped me.

I've only ever seen it once, nearly ten years ago, on our small television in District 12. A shining, gold trident that feels colder than ice in my hand. When I rub my thumb along the shaft of it, however, it heat ups and suddenly, it isn't a trident anymore. It's an arrow.

"Katniss!" I hear him scream, and I whip my head around and see him standing at the water's edge, looking terrified but unharmed.

"Peeta!" I call back, relief flooding my chest with the force of a tsunami. I run toward him, but the terrified look doesn't leave his face. When I reach him, a voice booms through the arena. I look around curiously, only to find that the voice is coming from someone right behind me.

"Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark, the two remaining tributes in the 100th Annual Hunger Games," President Snow whispers, yet his voice carries through the arena. The 100th Games? That much time hasn't passed since our Games, has it? I look at Peeta questioningly, but he doesn't look confused. He looks scared. "In this year, the fourth Quarter Quell, the only tributes permitted in the arena were you two." He leans in and whispers, "This is your punishment. This is what you deserve. You can't escape this time. I've made sure of that." He casts a glance down at the arrow in my hand, and I begin to back away, finally understanding.

"Peeta, run! Run! The arrow is going to kill you!" I scream, but it's too late. The arrow has flown from my hand of its own accord and pierced his heart. He isn't dead yet. I scream and try to strangle President Snow, but he's vanished, leaving me to say goodbye to the only one I've ever loved. But he only says two words to me before he dies.

"Your fault."

My head hits something solid and I can only register my own screams and the throbbing in my head. Fleeting images of Peeta dead, bleeding, accusing flash in front of my eyes and I stuff my own fist in my mouth to stop myself from screaming. When the screaming dies down, dry sobs rack my chest. I barely notice the door of my compartment opening.

"Katniss?" he asks, bending down to look at me. I am on the floor, my bedside lamp shattered a bit of blood smeared on the edge of the table. "Katniss, what's wrong?"

I can't answer him. I can only try to regain my composure, try to get my breathing back to normal. I close my eyes tightly and after a few minutes, managed to choke out, "You're alive?"

He chuckles hollowly and says, "Yes, Katniss, I'm alive. Do you want some water?" I shake my head, and lift my hand up to him. Instead of grabbing it, he stoops down and lifts me under my armpits like I'm a child. He sets me gently on my bed and strokes my hair. Turning to leave, I whimper. I don't mean to, but the sight of him leaving, going somewhere I can't keep him safe, is too much.

"You want me to stay?" He asks, his eyebrows lifted. I nod and lift the blanket on my bed for him to crawl under.

When he's settled next to me, and my head leans against his chest, it's easier for me to breathe, to put something into words.

"Peeta," I begin, my voice raspy. "Have you thought about what I said?"

"No," he answers and before I begin to protest, he shushes me and begins to speak again. "After I stormed out of the compartment and gave myself a minute to cool down, I realized I didn't need to think."

"Why?" I ask. Hours earlier, when I finally told Peeta that I loved him, he didn't respond. He just looked at me incredulously and left. Without a word. I don't know why he did, after all, didn't he want me to love him back? Now that I do, he doesn't want me to. Maybe he's realized that my limited ability to love is less than he deserves.

"Because I know you love me. I reacted like that because, well, I wasn't sure if you knew what you were saying. I thought you were just trying to say the right thing, like all the other times before."

"That's stupid," I say.

"I know," he responds. He looks down at me. Blows a hair out of my eyes. Pulls me a little tighter.

"Well?"

"Well what?"

"Do you love me back?"

He sighs. "What will I have to do to convince you that I love you more than anyone possibly could love another person? To tell you that I would die for you? To somehow let you know that there's nothing on Earth that could make me stop loving you?" His voice is husky and low, and I look him in the eyes.

"Show me," I whisper. "Show me, Peeta." He looks undecided for a moment, and somewhere in my heart, I am, too. But something he sees in my eyes changes his mind and his lips fall on mine with the force of a building tumbling to the ground. He pins one of my arms above my head and the way his body moves against mine puts any indecision out of my mind. If his lips and his touch can make me feel like I'm sinking far underground at the same time I'm flying high above the earth, why shouldn't I listen? His heart thumps unevenly, and I'm suddenly overcome with a desire to feel his skin brushes against mine. I pull at the hem of his shirt, and he lifts it above his head without taking his eyes from mine. His lips move from mine to my neck, working my way to my collarbone, to the top of my nightshirt, where he tugs it aside with his teeth. When he starts to unbutton it, I don't protest, I just kiss his neck in exactly the same spots as he kissed mine, because after all, if it felt that good when he did it, why shouldn't I? His skin feels like silk underneath mind and all of a sudden, I know why Cinna dressed us in costumes of fire. As he stands above me, taking off his pants, as I throw my nightclothes off, I can see the fire behind his eyes, see it spreading to the rest of his body. The boy who was on fire.

I move closer to him, kissing his stomach, wrapping my arms around him. He tilts my chin up so I have to look at him. "Is this what you want, Katniss?" he asks, and I know why he does. Three days ago, I was determined not to speak to him. But in realizing how I can't live without him, how he's what I need to be the strongest version of myself, I don't hesitate. Because right now, the only thing I've ever wanted more was for him and I to come out of the arena together. I nod my head slowly, and we fall onto my bed together, his lips travelling my body until he come back to kiss me, hard, on the mouth. He lays between my legs, elbows resting on either side of my head.

"I love you, Katniss," he whispers, before moving his hips into me. I gasp, because it hurts, but it's isn't before long that I'm moaning and holding onto Peeta for dear life, because there's nothing in the world that makes more sense than this. The boy and girl who were on fire.


	6. Chapter 6

"He said to convince him," Peeta says in a flat tone. I nod, picking at an imaginary crumb on my dress.

"But I don't know how," I say in a small voice. Peeta and I are sitting in my compartment, watching the fences of District 11 slide slowly into view. "I don't want to do anything that would endanger my mother and Prim," I remark lamely, not sure where I'm going with this.

"You love me, right?" Peeta asks, a small smile on his face. I'm about to get defensive and mean; I can feel it coming on. After the Games, after what I struggled through between the Games and now, how I came to terms with what happened—as best I can—I don't understand how he thinks he has the right to question me over and over again. Peeta holds his hands up in a supplicating, reconciliatory gesture. "I don't mean it like that, Katniss. It's just hard to believe that I finally get to hear those words come out of your mouth." I let out a huge breath and stuff all of the awful things I was going to say inside of me. I'm tense.

"Yes," I mumble. "I love you. Now can we return to the situation at hand?" He grins at me widely. A tiny smile turns up the corners of my lips. "It's just that now that he'll telling to convince me, I'll try to hard or not hard enough and I'll do something to hurt my family. These last few days have been—" what have they been, I wonder? Fantastic, yes. But that's not the word that tugs at my mind. Peeta has fixed me. Put the missing pieces of my heart and the chunks torn away by the Games back into their places. "These last few days have fixed me. They've healed me, I mean as much I can be healed after the Games. I spent all of my time asleep, dreaming about the Games and dreaming about you, or awake, and thinking of you and the Games. Whether I did the right thing in the Games, whether I should've just stuck by you and worked my feelings out on my own time. Whether or not I even should've survived the Games. So much of my conflict had to do with you not being there, and when you were, you fixed it. Me, I mean," I end my sentence lamely. I'm not done talking yet, so I take another deep breath. "Anyway, so I'm feeling all whole and great until now we have to convince people again. And even though I love you and I know it this time around, it'll still feel so false. In front of the cameras, acting to convince people."

"But the difference is, Katniss, that you actually do love me. So even if you hate having to broadcast our relationship to the cameras again, it's not false this time. So don't let the President's little 'convince me' speech affect our dynamic. Because if we were on camera right now, and if we had been the last couple of days, everyone would know that you love me. So calm down."

"Okay," I breathe. He's making a lot of sense. "Okay," I repeat. "Calm down, Katniss." Peeta laughs, and takes me by the hand. "I love your outfit, by the way. It's my favorite color." I look down at the muted orange frock Cinna put me in.

"Orange?"

"Like the sunset," he replies.

"Like the sunset," I repeat, just because it fits him so well. I'll forever associate this color with Peeta, whose soul is like the oranges and pinks and purples of the sunset. So profoundly beautiful you almost don't know how it's real.

He pulls me to my feet and drags me toward the door. The train is almost at a stop, which means we're about to disembark the train and board the cars that take us to District 11's Justice Building. When we meet up with Effie and Haymitch, Haymitch is suspiciously more sober than he usually is. I eye him warily.

"As you know, you two will be greeted by the press upon exiting the train and entering the cars. The cameras will follow you to the square in District 11, so please have your best faces on. And try to stay in love," Effie commands. I see Peeta's face fall. So I jump on his back stealthily to break the mood, and whisper in his ear.

"Real," I whisper. "It's real, Peeta." I give him a kiss on the cheek that doesn't feel forced at all, because the look on his face when Effie suggested that we were faking it again made something inside of me splinter off. I don't want to hurt him anymore. We're in this together. I whisper this to him.

"Together," he breathes, just as he did before we pulled our stunt with the berries in the last arena. Another piece of me splinters off when I think of it. How could it not have been obvious to me then? I was trying to save him. I loved him.

"Together," I repeat. "Just like in the Games." I say this with a smile on my face because I don't want it to have negative connotations. He grins.

"What I wouldn't do to have our cave back," he whispers mischievously. I scowl at him.

"Shut up, bread boy," I shoot back. Just then the train doors open and we're greeted by a plethora of cameras and reporters shouting at us for questions. We smile at them and Peeta steps out of the train with me still on his back. He stumbles a little bit again, but doesn't fall down. I whisper in his ear again, so low I'm not sure he hears me. "I love you, Peeta."

But from the way I see his grin out of the very corner of my eye, he does hear me. In one lithe motion, he sweeps me off his back and kisses me. It's hard to forget about the cameras, but somehow, I do. It isn't appropriate, obviously. We're going to District 11 partly to commemorate their lost tributes from the Games. But it feels nice.

When he releases me, he brushes my face lightly with his thumb and says loudly, "Shall we get a move on then, Miss Everdeen?" I laugh.

"Okay, Mr. Mellark."

When we finally arrive to the Justice Building of District 11, Peeta and I stand in the waiting room inside of it, speechless at how huge this district is. In school, they simply referred to it as a "large district." How do all of their children fit into the square for the Reaping? Surely they don't. They must have some kind of preliminary picking of tributes. What a relief it must be for parents to be told not to attend the Reaping. How terrifying it must be to be a parent whose children's attendance is compulsory. I wonder then, how did it come to be that Rue was standing on that stage, with no one but the wind offering to take her place?

It feels like someone punches me in the gut. Rue, jumping from tree to tree, lighter than the wind. Rue, standing on the tip of her toes, leaning forward as if about to take flight. Rue, with the spear still sticking out of her chest as I cover her with flowers. I make a choking noise, and my hands to start to shake. I feel Peeta's arm encircle me as I try to take gulping breaths to steady myself again. Eventually, my breaths come even again and I stop choking on the memories that haunt me every night. Rue. Glimmer. Cato. Clove. Thresh. Foxface. Peeta. Peeta, Peeta, Peeta.

I look up at him, arm around me, his face concentrated and alert. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah," I reply. "It's just, this is—" I let out a breath. "Her district. Rue's." I didn't need to say her name, because Peeta knows who I'm talking about. But I force it out anyway. I haven't said her name in six months.

"I know," he says. "I can do all of the talking, if you want."

"Thank you," I breathe. He smiles down at me sadly.

"It's time," I hear Effie announce. I take a breath and smooth down my dress.

"Remember, Katniss," Peeta says as I take his hand and cling to it. "We're in this together. You and me, always." His words aren't pushy, demanding everything from me. They're simple, stating how he feels, how he would've felt anyways if I didn't come to him. But instead of making me feel guilty, the stir up a feeling of warmth in my belly.

"Always," I say back, as we step into the blinding light of District 11.

I study Peeta's face as he speaks in his simple, winning way about Thresh and Rue. How they kept me alive, and by extension, kept him alive. He had toyed with the idea of giving their families money, but we decided it was too risky with President Snow breathing down our necks. "I wish more than anything that we could somehow compensate you for your children's bravery and sacrifice. But I can't. However, I want to thank you for them, for the principles and goodness and courage you raised them with. If it weren't for you and for them, Katniss and I would not be standing here today. Thank you," Peeta concludes. I don't take my eyes off his face once. I don't want to look at Rue's family. I don't want to look away from Peeta's strong jaw, his dark pink lips moving so eloquently. When he turns to face me, his eyes meet mine and he gives me a small sad smile. "Do you want to speak?" he mouths at me quickly. I quickly shake my head.

It's then that I turn and look down at Rue's family. Her mother and father, sobbing with grief that must feel as fresh to them as it did six months ago. It's her sisters and brothers that make me do it. One of them stares at me accusingly. Because I didn't acknowledge her. She looks almost exactly like Rue, which is what compels me to step up to the microphone and say, "Wait. Wait, please."

Peeta steps back to my side, holding tightly onto my waist. "I would like to give my thanks to the tributes of District 11." My eyes find the pair of women standing on Thresh's side of the platform. One of them is an old woman, one is a tall, muscled girl. "I only ever spoke to Thresh one time, just long enough for him to spare my life. I didn't know him, but I always respected him. For his power. For his refusal to play the Games on anyone's terms but his own. The Careers wanted him to team up with them from the beginning, but he wouldn't do it. I respected him for that." I look up at Peeta for a long moment, drawing strength from his face. He looks down at me, love etched into every line, every pore, every inch of his face. I smile at him, wondering how I can love him this much. He believes in me. I can do this. I turn to Rue's family now, wanting more than ever to flee back into the Justice Building, but I can't. Because if it was me that died and Rue that won, she wouldn't. She would thank me. "But I feel as if I did know Rue, and she'll always be with me. I always see her. Everything beautiful brings her to mind. I see her in the yellow flowers that grow in the Meadow by my house. I see her in the mockingjays that sing in the trees. But most of all, I see her in my sister, Prim." My voice breaks. I have to cough to clear my throat. There is nothing lodged there, but it gives me a moment to compose myself. "Thank you for your children, and thank you all for the bread."

The square of District 11 is quiet for a moment, like mockingjays after hearing a particularly beautiful voice. Like a canary in a coal mine, warning the listener of bad air and death. Which is it? A mockingjay or a canary?

The crowd erupts into applause so loud it hurts my ears. There is cheering and whistling, though none the whistle that Rue and I used to communicate in the arena. I let out a breath. Peeta and I wave at them and smile, turning back into the Justice Building of District 11. I have no idea how I'm going to get through this Tour.

Well, actually, I do. Once glance upward to the person beside me tells me so.


	7. Chapter 7

The Tour drags on. It isn't as awful as I thought it would be, but it's monotonous. We give speeches in every district, though none of them as heartfelt as our speeches in District 11. Every time I speak, I look at Peeta. Every time I speak, we share a long look that communicates more than words could. It says "I love you. We're in this together. I love you." It's with the utmost unwillingness that I tear my eyes from his to deliver my speeches to the citizens of Panem.

There's unrest, certainly. But it's contained. When I give my speeches, I find that it's much easier to discuss my love for Peeta than I thought it would be. The words are simple. _If it weren't for the sacrifices of your tributes, I would never have been able to have a life with Peeta. I would never have been able to discover the love of my life. Thank you for your children, and for the life they gave us._ I add more, of course, because I don't want to use Effie's speeches to explain my love for Peeta. But we do well, I think. District 8 is tough. They aren't happy. But when Peeta begins to talk about the berries, about how he would've done anything to prevent us living without each other, a rare, genuine tear comes to my eye and drops onto my cheek. I don't know what spurred it. Perhaps it was the brief, terrifying thought that occurred to me of what my life would be like without him. If he had died, the avalanche of what I actually felt would've fallen on me. I would've been damaged beyond repair. When he talks about the berries, I wrap my arm around his waist and look up at him. _Thank you for being alive,_ I think.

At the banquets that follow, we don't leave each other's side. We dance in the dim, dusky lights of the banquet halls. His hazy blue eyes fall on mine and the music that we dance to falls much quieter as we stare into each other eyes. We share the same thoughts, the thoughts we have when we look at each other on stage: "I love you. We're in this together."

When we get to District 7, I'm delighted to see many, many more trees than in the woods of Twelve. Most of them are pine, which I'm mostly unfamiliar with, but the way they smell is amazing. I ask Effie if I can find a perfume in the Capitol that smells like Seven.

Four is Peeta's favorite, of course. The ocean that he'd been longing to see exceeded both of our expectations. It seems unbelievable that any one place could have so much water. We sit for a while on the white beaches of District 4, inhaling the salty air, even wading out into the surf a little. I go to push Peeta into the water, but he jumps up and down and panics.

"I can't swim, Katniss!" he practically shrieks, but I'm doubled over laughing.

"Peeta, the water is two feet deep," I say rationally, tugging him closer to me and putting my arm around him.

"You can drown in two inches of water," he retorts, trying to look disdainful. This makes me laugh more. He fights a smile and pulls me to him, his lips falling on me like the water that beats the shores of District 4.

We sleep together every night, but we've only been together intimately the one time. It wasn't a mistake. I didn't wake up the next day feeling panicky. But we decided that we would wait to do it again, because I decided that having a child wouldn't be good for us, and he agreed. But when he kisses me like he does now, falling back onto the white sand, hands in my hair, it's hard to stick to my convictions. There are cameras around us constantly, following us everywhere. It makes me self-conscious, but Peeta reminds me that there's nothing to be afraid of. He tells me to pretend they aren't there. So I try, and I mostly succeed.

With Peeta by my side, the Tour isn't awful. It's actually kind of enjoyable when we're left alone by everyone. This doesn't happen often, but when it does, it feels like heaven. It feels like we're closing the shade that covers the window of our life. I discover things about Peeta that I never knew before, trivial little things. He never takes sugar in his tea. He always orders his meat so well done that it looks inedible, although he assures me it's not. He likes red wine, although he drinks it in moderation because he has no desire to end up like Haymitch.

"Then how do you deal with it?" I ask him one day between District 4 and District 3.

"With the Games?" he asks. He looks pensive.

"Yeah," I answer. "You don't wake up screaming from nightmares, even though I know you get them. Everyone has to cope with it somehow. Haymitch drinks, I hunt, but I don't know what you do."

"I've never showed you my talent, have I?" Peeta asks, a smile on his face. It doesn't reach his eyes. I know I'm about to cross over into the land of absolute trust. I don't want to screw it up.

"No," I reply. He takes me by the hand and pulls me up from the sofa.

"Well, it's time you see for yourself," he says. He leads me to a different compartment, and as soon as we walk in, I have an urgent desire to turn around and flee the room. But that would wound him, and I've sworn not to do that again. So I stay rooted to the spot, unable to speak.

He's painted the Games. A giant wolf that's supposed to be Glimmer, with shining blond fur and green eyes. Water dripping from the top of the cave. Cato being ripped apart by the mutts. And me. I am everywhere. I'm beating a shirt against the rocks of the stream. Stringing an arrow to shoot an animal. Here I am under the haze of tracker jacker venom, vacant look in my eyes. Me emerging from a gray mist that matches my eyes exactly. Me lying in a pool of blood. Me, me, me.

Something rushes up into my eyes. It feels like tears, but I want to ignore them. I walk up the painting of me lying in blood, running my fingers across the lines of the painting. They are exquisite, down to the finest detail. So realistic they could be a photograph, but so surrealistic that you almost feel you're in a dream. They take my breath away.

"Wow," I finally manage. I impatiently wipe the wetness on my cheek away. "So this is how you've dealt with it. The trauma."

"I think it makes me less afraid to go to sleep at night," he says, his eyes following me around the room, where I touch every painting. I linger at some longer than others. I stay at the one with me and the silver mist for a long time. I try to place what day it was. I think maybe it was when his fever was at its highest. I gloss over the picture of Cato and the mutts. It makes me feel sick.

"What do you think?" he finally asks, after I've made my way around the room.

"I hate them," I say honestly. "Some of them, I mean. The ones that show how bad it was. They're so realistic, it almost takes me back to the arena. But they're exquisite, this one in particular. When was this?" I ask, pointing at the one of the mist.

"I can't remember. Probably during the fever and blood poisoning. I wasn't totally coherent, but your face in this is rooted in my memory forever. I had to paint it," he explains.

"You loved me the whole time," I whisper. "Even after I said it was an act. Even after I ignored you for all those months. You loved me the whole time." He draw closer to me, his hand coming up to cup my face gently, his touch so soft it feels like a whisper on my skin.

"Every second, every minute, every hour, every day, I loved you. Just like how I'll love you every second, every minute, every hour, and every day for the rest of my life. There's nothing that could make me stop loving you," he whispers against the skin of my cheek. "No one will ever take that away."

I look up at him, emotion choking the words from sounding normal. "Sorry it took me so long to wise up," I manage. I cough hastily, trying to dispel whatever is lodged in my throat. It doesn't work.

"Doesn't matter," he says against my skin. "You're here now."

"I'm not going anywhere, either," I say. I let my lips brush against his. "Not now, not ever."

I feel his smile against my lips before he presses them so hard onto mine that I can't breathe. But I don't need to breathe. Maybe I'll never need to breathe again, as long as he's pressed against me like this.

I throw all of my convictions out the window, because one of his hands is on my back and the other is tangled in my hair. He leans me against the wall of the painting room, and the way his body moves against mine puts any semblance of coherent thought out of my mind.


	8. Chapter 8

"Well, if he wants you to convince him, he should be pretty happy," Haymitch says. We all stand past the end of the train, talking in low voices even though there aren't cameras out here. Peeta convinced me to tell Haymitch about the President's visit, because honestly, Haymitch is usually right about things like this.

"If you were looking at this from an outside perspective," I say in a near-whisper. "Would you be convinced that I'm in love with Peeta?" I study Haymitch as his eyes tighten and he thinks the question over. He tilts his head to the side a little bit, takes a drink of his wine.

"Before I say anything, you two need to know something. You can never let down your guards. Always, when it comes to the Capitol, put up a wall. Watch them like they're watching you. Don't think that just because you _are_ in love with him now, that you're off the hook for good. Uprisings are imminent, and they're coming. So just because I'm telling you that, from an outsider's point of view, you seem very in love, don't be complacent. Fear keeps you alive, sweetheart," he finishes, directing his last comment at me. I almost didn't catch his answer, because I was stewing over his advice.

"So you're saying that you think we're succeeding?" Peeta asks.

"Success is relative, Peeta," Haymitch growls. "You don't know whether you're succeeding at quieting the districts, because we have nearly no access to them. But I think you're convincing him, okay? That's what I said. I would do something drastic, something big. Save it for the Capitol."

"Like what?" Peeta asks.

"Like get married," I say in a deadpan voice. I've never wanted to get married. I still don't think I do.

"That's exactly what I was thinking," Haymitch says, looking me over in an appreciative kind of way. I've known since the Games that Haymitch and I were all too similar, and so has he. But it's Peeta who's on the outside now, because he isn't like us. Conniving. I look sideways at him.

"Okay," Peeta says quickly. He turns around and walks back to the train. I turn to stare at Haymitch, bewildered.

"What the hell?" I ask him, throwing my hands up in the air. "He knows that I love him, so why is he acting like this? He's always wanted this," I say, exasperated.

"He wanted it to be real," Haymitch replies. "Although I don't see how that matters now. You two are never getting off of this train. Every year, you'll have to go back to the Capitol, every year you'll be forced to mentor. And every year, they're going to bring you on stage and drag out the details of your romance for everyone to see. There isn't another path for either of you now."

"Does he not know that?" I ask, throwing myself on the ground.

"Do you know that?" Haymitch throws at me. I'm about to say something spiteful and mean to Haymitch, but I stop myself short. I'm okay with what Peeta and I have now, because we're moving at our own pace. Letting ourselves work out how to move forward together. Maybe we go slow sometimes, maybe we go too fast other times, but we dictate the pace. If we get married, we're letting them dictate our lives, although it's not like they aren't doing it now.

Will I want to run because I feel forced into it? Will I stop caring about him? Will I let my visceral fear of marriage and children get in the way of being with Peeta, giving him everything he ever wanted, making him happy for the rest of his life?

I wish more than ever that I could just run away, find a patch of trees somewhere, let myself think this through on my own. But I can't, because it isn't just me anymore. It's Peeta's feelings and Peeta's life, too. Unknowingly, I bound myself to him forever in the Games, in the nights we shared together on the train, in the confession that I needed him. If we were back in District 12, with no cameras, no Capitol, no Games, nothing, would I still be afraid of this?

"Yes, I know that, Haymitch. Thank you for reminding me," I shoot back at him. I want to walk away and shut myself in my room, but I can't right now. I give Haymitch a brief and uncharacteristic hug, whispering, "Thanks for everything," before turning back to the train. Back to Peeta.

When I get to his compartment, though, he isn't there. I wander around the train until I find him in the last place I expected him to be. The bar car, where Haymitch spends his days and nights trying to forget his Games and trying to forget the children he mentored, all of them dying. Until us.

"Peeta," I say. My voice is hard, probably because it makes me so angry to see him here, bent over a bottle, letting himself slip into habits that don't belong to him.

"Katniss," he responds, but his voice isn't hard. It's slurring together a little bit. Haymitch and I were only out there a little longer than him, maybe fifteen or twenty minutes. I looked for Peeta for another fifteen minutes. How is he already drunk?

"Why are you in here? You aren't Haymitch," I say, my voice softening just a little bit.

"It doesn't why I'm in here, Katniss," he says. He turns to look at me. His eyes are bloodshot and the outsides are rimmed with red, too. I let my anger go, just for the time being, because it doesn't look like he needs anger. He looks like he needs to be loved. I drop onto the stool next to him, and touch his arm. He looks away from me. "You don't want to get married to me, do you?" He asks.

"I never wanted to get married to anyone, Peeta," I say back, my voice quiet and soft.

"So if we get married, it'll be for show, then?" he asks.

"Peeta, I don't like the idea of that any more than you do. And I need you to be patient with me and talk things through with me, because everything seems to make more sense when you say it," I whisper. "Please, Peeta." He lets out a great big sigh and swings his feet around the bar stool. I look out the window past his shoulder and notice that the sun is beginning to go down. It's my turn to sigh, because I always find myself trapped in beautiful moments with Peeta. It really isn't fair. Sunsets and snowy nights and Justice Building ballrooms and white beaches and water that stretches forever.

I take his hand and lead him back to the car where our compartments are, opening the door to his compartment and closing it softly behind us. He sits down on the bed and I plop down next to him.

"What do you need me to talk you through?" He asks, and he voice is more steady and level than it was in the bar car.

"I never even considered marriage, but if we do it I don't want it to be for them. Just tell me, if we got married, what would we do every day? Would things be different? Will we act differently? Do we have to have children? Just paint me a picture of what marrying you would look like. Because from what I saw of my mother after my father died, marriage is just becoming too weak to survive on your own," I say to him, my hand gripping his tightly. I don't understand why I feel so desperate about the words he's going to say to me. Maybe I just want him to tell me that everything will be okay and that we don't have to have children, or that marrying him wouldn't make me weak as my mother.

A small smile plays around the corners of his mouth. I squeeze his hand tighter and he looks at me, square in the eyes. "Marriage can be whatever we want it to be. Maybe you move into my house, or maybe I move in with you and your family. You wake up early every day and go hunting, and I'll bake and paint during the day. We'll go see Haymitch, we'll have dinner with your family every night. You'll go give game to Gale's mother, I'll go help my father at the bakery, and I'll cook for us, since you're so hopeless at it." This elicits a chuckle from me, and he runs his thumb over my jaw before he continues. "We'll drink mint tea together in the sunroom, and pour cold water on Haymitch to wake him up. When you have nightmares, I'll be next to you to comfort you. When I dream of losing you, I'll wake up and see you next to me, and everything will be okay. That's what marriage could be like, Katniss. Whatever we want it to be," he finishes. "And nothing we do will be for _them._"

I sit there for a moment, closing my eyes and thinking of what he described to me. The shutter we close over the window of our lives, in the small, precious moments we have—we could have it together, in District 12. Life won't be so different form the way it is now. He doesn't mention children, doesn't tell me about the kids we'll have someday. And I feel inexplicably better.

"Anything we want it to be?" I ask him, just wanting to hear him say it again.

"Anything," he confirms. His eyes are stuck on mine. I find that I have no particular desire to look away.

"Okay," I say. He smiles.

"Okay," he whispers back, touching his forehead gently to mine.

"Okay."

"I have something I want to do," he says, his low voice gentle and sweet and a little bit like thunder. I close my eyes, because it's a nice moment and I want to keep it for a little longer.

"What is it?" I ask, when I feel him pull away from me. I open my eyes to see him kneeling in front of me on one knee. He's a little unsteady, because after six months, he'll still getting used to his prosthetic leg. "What are you doing?"

"I'm asking you, in this little train compartment, where no one is watching, if you'll marry me. I love you, Katniss. I want to ask you now, for us. In the spirit of letting us decide the course of our lives, will you marry me? Let us have an extraordinary, long, boring, happy life together. Let me wake up next to you every day until I die. Marry me, Katniss," he says. There are tears in his eyes and his voice breaks in the middle of his last sentence. "Make me happier than I've ever been."

When I kneel next to him on the ground and put my arms around him, I don't think of President Snow's threats, I don't think of convincing the nation that I'm madly in love with Peeta. I think of the simple things we'll share together. Tea. Lazy mornings. A soft blanket that covers both of our legs. A closet.

I touch his lips with mine, gently. Like a whisper. Touch my forehead to his. Finally, when I've gathered my bearings enough, I tell him, "Yes."


	9. Chapter 9

**Wow—I just want to start out this chapter by thanking the fantastic community of readers that like this story so much. I've gotten a thousand more views since I posted the last chapter, and it takes my breath away. This is why I post my silly stories on this website—for those of you that love this literature so much that they can't get enough. So, THANK YOU from the bottom of my fangirl heart. If anyone has an interest in Finnick &amp; Annie, I have a story on them as well! Everything belongs to Suzanne Collins, and once again, thanks for being such great people and reading my fantasy version of the Hunger Games trilogy.**

The air in the Capitol is warm, humid, and smelly. It makes me feel sick to my stomach. When we first step off the train, I have to cough a few times because my lungs are protesting the disgusting air that has entered them. I clutch Peeta's hand desperately, and try not to touch the makeup that paints my face. My prep team has threatened me with death if I mess it up.

Peeta and I wave at the cameras, smile a bit, but mostly just steal glances at each other. Trade secret smiles, because no one in the Capitol knows what we know now—that we're engaged. That we're going to have a small, quiet—and secret—wedding back in District 12. That we can't live without each other. That we spend our nights on the train wrapped around each other. A smile spread across my face without my permission because I don't want to forget the way Peeta kissed me last night, after I said yes.

He catches my smile out of the corner of his eye. He stops me in the middle of a swarm of photographers and kisses me full on the mouth. One of his hands touches my face gently, the other wraps around my waist. My hand moves on its own to touch his face, but the kiss isn't as long as I want it to be. But I still have to grin at him when he pulls away, even though it's only by inches.

He pinches my cheek before he grabs my arm and pulls me alongside him. It's easier to smile and wave now, with the fresh memory of his lips on mine.

When we arrive at the Training Center, where we're staying, Peeta pulls Effie aside, whispers a few things in her ear. Effie's face splits into the widest grin I've ever seen as she nods at Peeta. I don't know what the hell they're talking about, so I just turn to Haymitch and point at Peeta and Effie as if to ask "what's that?" He just shrugs his shoulders at me and takes a long pull from the flask that's hidden in his jacket.

I watch Peeta carefully as he hands a small folded piece of paper to Effie. She nods discreetly and heads back out the door of the Training Center. "Where's Effie going?" I finally ask Peeta. "We're having dinner in like fifteen minutes."

"She had to run an errand. Should be back soon," Peeta says coyly. I scowl at him but still take his hand as we walk towards the elevators. I'm famished, and exhausted. Peeta and I stayed up late last night to talk about the plans for our secret wedding, and had to wake up early for breakfast and prep. I haven't eaten much all day.

We're having an early dinner, as it's around 3 p.m., because we have an interview with Caesar Flickerman at 6, then another banquet afterwards. I'm sure by the time the banquet rolls around, I'll be hungry again. So when the plate of chicken and noodles shows up in front of me, I tuck in and ignore the coy little looks Peeta is throwing my way. I don't know why he wouldn't have told me what he's planning with Effie. Technically, we're already engaged—for us. And his involving Effie with whatever is going on taints it a little bit. Soon after I scarf down dessert—some sort of fruit pie—my prep team sweeps me away again, because apparently the prep I received earlier was just for the cameras at the train station. I groan and they paint me and make me desirable and chatter about meaningless, stupid things. Time passes, as it inevitably does, and when Cinna walks in, I'm so grateful that he's my stylist that I throw my arms around him.

"Long day?" He asks, eyebrow cocked.

"Peeta is planning something with Effie," I blurt out. "It's annoying." Cinna chuckles at me and holds up a garment bag.

"This might cheer you up," he suggests.

"Maybe," I say with a scowl on my face. I just want to know what they're doing. Planning our public engagement? But Cinna does indeed lift my spirits when he unzips the dress to showcase a fantastic black gown, made of some kind of silk that is absolute magic to touch, but is also comfortable.

When I put it on, I see that it's flattering, and my little girl look is mysteriously gone. "It's beautiful," I remark. "No more little girl dresses?"

"Well, they are beautiful. But I wanted something a little more sophisticated for you tonight," he says enigmatically.

"Are you in on this, too?"

"Nope," he responds with a smile on his face. He dodges the shoe I throw at him by about an inch. I scowl at him as he leaves the room and I'm left alone. Surely Peeta is planning something to do with how he'll propose to me for the cameras. I just don't know why he wouldn't include me—we're supposed to be in this together. Maybe he's just keeping how he's going to do it from me so I'll seem surprised. Yes, that has to be it. I exhale a little bit, feeling better.

Peeta and I are supposed to be making separate entrances onstage, so it's just Cinna that comes with me to the President's mansion where the interview is being conducted. It's Cinna that walks me to my side of the makeshift stage.

He adjusts my makeup a couple of times for the lighting, positions a curl differently on my head. Before I know it, it's time to go on. I'm not nervous, not after this Tour. The crowd here belongs to me and to Peeta. They're dough in our hands.

When Cinna gives me a little push, I walk out into the blinding lights of the stage, where Caesar's lavender hair is waiting for me. I shift my eyes a little to the left and see Peeta walking towards me, and everything else around him seems to recede a little bit. He smiles at me and I'm sure I smile back but I'm too busy watching the light reflect off his white teeth, too busy caught up in his eyes, too busy feeling like the girls I used to hate before the Games.

When we meet, we kiss, and yet again, it's far too brief for my liking. I have gotten too used to the kisses he gives me on the train. When we part, we sit on the couch across from Caesar Flickerman and he asks how our life has been in District 12. I tell him about our talents, how my interest in fashion seems so shallow next to Peeta's exquisite paintings. Of course, that prompts Caesar to bring one of them out and display it. I notice that it's the one of me in the gray mist. I turn to Peeta. "Did you choose that one?" I ask, and I don't mind that the audience hears.

"Yes," he says back, leaning into to touch his nose to my nose. "It's my favorite." He leans in to whisper in my ear, "That's how I see you in my dreams." His breath on my neck feels electric, but I lean in closer anyways. I whisper to him that I love him, and he gives me a gentle kiss on the cheek before resuming the interview. We talk an equal amount, about how fantastic it's been discovering each other and loving each other. When Caesar asks us about our plan for the future, I can feel my heart hammering in my chest, because Peeta has to do it soon or our plan will be ruined—

"Katniss," Caesar interjects, adjusting his ear piece. "I've been told that one of your biggest fans wants to send a message to you."

"Oh really?" I smile at the audience. "What's the message?"

"On the screen behind you," Caesar tells me. So I turn around and the giant screen that usually shows close ups of our faces has words written on it. The words aren't in normal type—they're in a suspiciously familiar handwriting that darts across the screen. _Katniss,´_it reads in giant green letters. _Will you marry me?_ I hear the audience gasp loudly. The room seems to be so quiet that you could hear a pin drop.

Even though it's for the Capitol, part of this still seems to belong to us. Because the Capitol can't touch the deepest, best parts of Peeta. They can't taint his ability to love. So I turn around and I find him like I did last night, balancing on one knee close to the ground. This time, however, he holds something in his hand. I don't know what it is, because I'm too busy looking at the man I love.

What I mean about him being untouchable is this: even though we are in a city full of people we both hate, staging a second marriage proposal, he is still so moved by his love for me that there are tears in his eyes. He is still smiling up at me in that completely innocent, good way. I'm reminded of something that Haymitch said to me months ago, when I went to him to vent my frustration and anger at Peeta freezing me out. _You can't do any better than that boy, sweetheart. _And looking at him now, I know that I can't. My vision of him blurs a bit because tears came into my eyes, unwanted and unbidden.

It's been a few seconds since I first saw Peeta kneeling on one knee, and I haven't said anything. This will belong to us, too. This memory. Tears in our eyes as we agree to bind ourselves together forever. So in this quiet room filled with too many people, I let a tear or two slip out of my eye, and I breathe the words so quietly I'm not sure if the microphone catches them: "Peeta, yes. Of course I'll marry you."

He sweeps me up in his arms and lifts me off the ground, twirls me around so much my dress flares out a bit. The audience is going crazy, cheering and crying and screaming, but I don't care. Because I'm closing the shutters of our life again, kissing him and hugging him and shouting "I love you so much" over the screams of the audience.

When the audience quiets down, Peeta sets me down for the express purpose of showing me what was in his hand. I'm speechless, only for a second or two, as I study the ring he's sliding on my finger. The silver band looks like it's made of two ropes that coil around each other in a figure eight motion, and the white diamond that sits in the middle of it is large, but not too much so. On each side of the white diamond, there are three smaller green diamonds, exactly my favorite color. I look up at him, breathless.

"Did you design this?" I ask.

"Yes, it's the paper I gave to Effie this morning. It was a sketch, and she took it to the jeweler to be made," he explains. I laugh and kiss him again, because of course he had to get me a ring that he designed. After the kiss, I wrap my arms around him and hug him tightly. He whispers, "I love you," in my ear, but the microphones, which are closing in on us, caught it. So I tell him that I love him back, trying not to care too much.

President Snow is brought onto the stage to congratulate us, and after he embraces me, I raise my eyebrows slightly at him, as if to ask "Did we do it? Did we convince you?"

He moves his head up and down almost imperceptibly, and a wave of relief stronger than the waves of District 4 washes over me. Prim and my mother are safe. We're safe, for now. And we're free, at least for a while, to live the life we deserve.


	10. Chapter 10

After a few more words with Caesar, we are shuffled quickly to the banquet, which is also taking place in President Snow's mansion. I smile up at Peeta as we walk together, and when he smiles down at me, I pull him in closer and whisper in his ear, "We did it. We convinced him."

"Of course we did," he whispers back, so quietly I almost don't hear him. "We're in love."

"I guess we are," I say, grinning. The relief I feel is so freeing, it's making me feel giddy. I wonder idly if I'd feel this free if he had said no. Probably not, as it would be a death sentence for my family. For Gale and his family. I ruminate on the subject of Gale a little, as well, wondering what if he watched the broadcast tonight. Technically, it was mandatory, because it had to do with the Games. But he goes into the woods for most of them.

I wish I could feel guilty about the fact that I'm with Peeta now, but I honestly can't. I love Gale, but it's a different love. Like he's my brother. He never indicated any romantic interest in me before I was went to the Games; I don't owe him anything like that. I decide to talk to him when I get back to Twelve. It's either I do that or lose him as a friend forever.

Peeta leans down to brush a kiss on my cheek, and pulls me out of my reverie. He asks what I'm thinking about, but I tell him nothing. I don't want to tell him that I'm thinking of Gale. Even if I'm just trying to resolve a conflict in my mind.

"Wow," I breathe as we walk through the doors of the banquet hall. This party truly has no equal. The ceiling is forty feet tall and has been transformed into the night sky. The stars look exactly as they do at home. Musicians float on fluffy white clouds, but the real star of the evening is the food. Anything and everything you could never dream of lie on the forty or so tables that line the walls of the room.

My appetite rears its ugly head again and I turn to Peeta and tell him, "I want to taste everything in the room." He grins at me and squeezes my hand tightly.

"We'd better pace ourselves, then," he says back, holding out his arm for me to take. I do with a small smile in his direction. We're stopped incessantly on the way to the food tables for photographs, which annoys me because I'm hungry, but Peeta manages to make me smile, as always.

We eat everything we can from every table, but I barely make it past the first ten. I lean against the wall, rubbing my stomach while Peeta talks to a tall blue woman. If I didn't know him well, it would seem like he's having a good time. But the muscle in his jaw is jumping wildly. I sigh and walk over to him as the blue woman is walking away.

"What's the matter?" I ask, putting my hand on his shoulder lightly. He rolls his eyes and looks around the room before turning to me.

"That woman," he whispers, pointing inconspicuously in her direction, "told me to give you _this_ if you were full." He gestures to a champagne flute full of clear liquid. I raise my eyebrows.

"Okay," I say cautiously. "And what's the issue?"

"It makes you throw up so you can eat more," he murmurs to me. "Want to dance?" Puzzled, I follow him to the dance floor, and he guides me slowly in a circle. I rest my head on his shoulder. I hear camera shutters clicking wildly. But Peeta leans down and whispers in my ear, "Maybe we were wrong. About trying to subdue things in the districts."

My head snaps up, and Peeta gives me a warning look. I try to play it off by giving him a kiss. "Do you even care that we are in the president's mansion and that saying that could get both of our families killed?" I whisper angrily to him.

"If you want to hide something, put it in plain sight," he retorts. "No one is going to be listening for that kind of talk tonight. Calm down."

"Save it for home," I shoot back at him.

"Fine." We continue dancing in angry silence, but I have to wonder if Peeta is right. Maybe it would be better if unrest in the districts reached a boiling point. If the nation rebelled, maybe there would be no Games. A place where Peeta and I could have children that wouldn't be doomed to certain death, as the child of two victors. But it's too late. We convinced President Snow, and to anyone watching, we are not rebels. We are playthings of the Capitol.

I take a deep breath and tell myself that it's better for Prim, for my mother, this way.

"Sorry," I whisper to him. He kisses my forehead and tells me that it's okay, and soon enough we're swept off to the bar to talk to someone.

The someone we meet is Plutarch Heavensbee, apparently the new Head Gamemaker for the Quell that's coming up this year. He brushes a kiss lightly against my cheek, and I have to root myself to the spot so I don't visibly recoil. The only people whose touch I'm familiar with is my family's and Peeta's. And I rank a Gamemaker somewhere below a maggot in terms of what I want touching my skin.

I manage a smile.

"Hello," I say, and he nods to me.

"I just wanted to tell you how splendid you both look tonight, and to personally let you know that I haven't touched strawberry punch since last year," he chuckles. I wrinkle my eyebrows, then it comes to me.

"Oh! You're the one who—"

"I am. And you'll be pleased to know that I've never recovered." I suppress a snort. The twenty-two children who died in my Games will never recover either. I think again of what Peeta said. About rebellion.

So I just say, "Good." I turn to Peeta. "Last year when I fired an arrow at the Gamemakers, he fell into a bowl of punch." Peeta laughs good naturedly, like he is completely comfortable, completely at home with this stranger.

Peeta and Heavensbee chat while I try not to think of next year's Games, which is the subject of conversation. The Quarter Quell. Every twenty-five years, the Capitol puts on a special Hunger Games with a special twist just to keep the horrors of the Dark Days fresh in everyone's mind. The first Quell, the 25th Games, the districts were made to vote for the tribute that would go into the arena. The second Quell, I remember with a glance at Haymitch—who is passed out at the bar a few feet away—demanded twice as many tributes from each district. Four from each district, forty-eight total. Haymitch won the 50th Hunger Games.

I try not to think of the girl that I will be forced to mentor and, most likely, watch die this year. Then I purposely think of what it would be like to mentor for twenty-three years, watching sixty-six children die, before you produce a victor. Two victors. I like to think, in this moment, that I understand Haymitch's alcoholism more than I did before. That would destroy anyone.

I rub my temples with my fingertips and sneak a glance at the clock on the wall. Nearly twelve, nearly over. When I take note of that, something distracts me. A mockingjay flashing on the watch of Plutarch Heavensbee.

"It starts at midnight," he murmurs. He directs his attention to me. "The meetings are top-secret, so don't tell anyone."

"Wouldn't dream of it," I say back, wondering if he can detect the sarcasm in my voice. For safety's sake, I add, "Have a good night." He nods to me and shakes Peeta's hand again, and when he's out of earshot, I lean over and whisper to Peeta, "Did you see that?"

"See what?" He asks, looking puzzled.

"His watch. For a second or two, a white mockingjay flashed on it," I explain hurriedly, because I can see Effie making her way across the room. _It starts at midnight._

He glances around before whispering, "Home." I understand what he means, and I nod, letting his arm fall around my shoulder. Effie is nearly to us now. "Anyway, the mockingjay is so trendy in the Capitol now. That's probably what it was. A trend." His voice is louder, so I know he's saying this for the benefit of people that might be listening in.

"Probably," I say back, relaxing my shoulders, twining my arm around Peeta's waist. I smile up at him, partly because there are cameras on us, and partly because I'm so relieved that he's mine. That he's safe. "You know, Peeta, you should get a mockingjay tattoo. To prove your undying love for me." He laughs then, a real laugh, deep and rumbling, like thunder. The sound makes me smile, and I find again that I can't tear my eyes away from him.

"As long as you get a tattoo of bread," he retorts, making the reporters around us laugh.

"Deal," I say back. He looks down at me while I look up at him and for a moment, we're trapped. Trapped in a little world all our own, where he's painted the sky with evergreen trees, where it smells like cinnamon and dill. Caught in a world between reality and fantasy, a world of our own making.

Even though Effie is trying to hurry us on, we stop in our place and look at each other. The only thing I can feel is a completely dissociation from the world around me, with every cell in my body reaching towards his, every part of my skin tingling with electricity, the beat of my heart aligning with his, caught, transfixed, in this little universe of ours.

Neither of us moves, neither of us breathes. In all of my revelations about Peeta, I never prepared myself to feel like this. So completely vulnerable, so completely raw—like an exposed nerve—but at the same time, so overcome with a feeling of belonging. I thought I'd seen love, I thought I was educated enough from watching my mother and my father steals looks at each other—the same look Peeta and I share now. But this is love unlike I've ever seen, unlike I've ever felt. In the moment we share leaving the mansion—probably a minute at the longest, but feeling like it lasted for twenty years—I realize something that should terrify me. That should paralyze me with fear. That should send me running for the hills. But it doesn't.

I could never, in a thousand years, live without Peeta next to me. If he was taken from me, I would be broken and damaged beyond any hope of repair. He is the person I can't live without.

I think he realizes this at the same time that I do, because we moved towards each other at the same time. Our lips find each other, and like we've known each other forever, like this is the most familiar thing in the world, we kiss in front of a hundred reporters—still trapped in a galaxy made of our own imaginations.


	11. Chapter 11

I wake with a start, visions of Peeta bleeding out dancing in front of me, taunting me. My chest heaves, my heart beats so hard I'm sure I will die soon, my lungs constrict like I'm drowning, a scream is stuck in my throat, choking me. I clutch my hair desperately, pulling it so hard I'm sure it will be ripped out. I draw in ragged breaths, trying to control the feeling of helplessness that's suffocating me.

I hear him whisper my name. I hear him ask if I'm okay. I feel his hands brushing my hair from my face. I feel his arms encircling me. I feel his lips on my forehead. I feel him lift me into his lap.

A strangled cry escapes my throat. I'm vaguely aware that it was a nightmare, I'm vaguely aware that it wasn't true. But what causes my anxiety to swell into panic is the overwhelming sense that it will happen, not now, but someday. The dream had the certainty of eventual reality. That is what will be my undoing tonight. That is what's causing the panic.

I don't know how long Peeta holds me in his arms, but they never waver. They are warm and strong and steady, like they always are, like they always have been. Eventually, his steadfastness, his words, his touch—they bring me back. I don't know how long it takes.

Eventually, though, I am able to draw a breath that fills my lungs. Eventually, my heartbeat slows down, and eventually—I can look at him.

His eyes are soft, calm. He rests his hand on my forehead to feel my temperature. I notice, belatedly, that I am covered in sweat. I don't say anything to him; I just lie limply in his arms, waiting for him to say something. But he doesn't, not for a long time. He just looks at me. Not speculatively, like he's trying to figure me out. He just looks at me; steadfast blue eyes letting me know that he's here. That he'll keep me sane. I think he knows that's what I need. Not words, not kisses. Just him, just his eyes telling me that he'll never leave, that he'll be here as long as I need him.

Eventually, I mumble an apology. He runs his thumb down my cheek and looks down at me with such tenderness, such love—I almost can't bear it.

"You shouldn't love me, Peeta," I whisper. "I'm damaged. You deserve someone who has more to give you than her psychological scar tissue." He brings me up into a sitting position on his lap and hugs me. I'm stiff at first—but I can't resist a chance to hold on to him, a chance to remind myself that's he's alive, he's here.

"I don't want anyone else," he mumbles into my hair. "I want you and your scar tissue and your nightmares."

I let out a long breath, because I wish I could just end things with him so he could find someone who can give him the love he deserves. The love he needs.

But I'm too selfish. So I pull myself to him, and his lips touch my neck. It feels so good, I know that I won't let go. I whisper, "Okay." He holds me tighter, and when his breath tickles my neck, it sends sparks of electricity through my body.

I don't know how long we stay like that—me, on his lap, wrapping myself around him desperately—but neither of us tries to move away. What's the point, anyway? Prim will grow up, find a boyfriend, get married, have children—and I'll still be scarred from the Games. And so will Peeta. When Prim has her own life, her own happiness, it will just be me and Peeta. He will be all I have.

So I put my lips on his and let the rest of the world fall away, as it inevitably does whenever Peeta is around.

A week later, when the Tour is over and the cameras have finally left District 12, I head into the woods. It's Sunday, so I'm positive Gale will be here. Even though I have enough money to feed my family and his several times over, he still won't take anything from me. So I hunt and give the game to his mother, who doesn't refuse. He still hunts, too. But he can't hunt on any other day besides Sunday, because he's in the mines six days a week.

Which is why I'm ducking under the fence today. Because I need to talk to him, I need to clear the air so I can save our friendship, if it can be saved.

I pull my bow and arrow out of the hollow trunk and let my senses guide me through the forest. I manage to bring down two rabbits and three squirrels, when all of a sudden I hear someone clear their throat behind me. I already know who it is, so I don't bother to turn around.

"Gale," I say. I don't mean to sound so cold and indifferent, but I do. I shrug.

"Katniss," he replies, but his voice is softer than mine, warmer. I turn. He's tall and strong and handsome and I can't help but smile at him. He walks up to me and gives me a hug.

"How are the mines? Your family? I feel like I've been away from Twelve for years," I say when he lets go of me. His face clouds over, and I know why. The Tour. I just let out a big sigh and say, "Alright, Gale. Just let it out."

"Did you say yes just to keep the act up? What's going on? You told me it was an act," he says to me, venom polluting his voice.

"I told you that right after the Games were over, when I was confused about what had happened," I shoot back.

"Come on, Katniss," he groans. "Yeah, teaming up with him saved your life and so did the romance thing. But you can drop it now. We're in the woods. There's no one to hide from."

"Well, first of all, stop acting like you know everything about me, Gale. You don't know what it's like to be in the Games, to have to see the things that I saw. That we saw," I correct myself. "And you don't know what it's like to live your life with threats hanging over your head. President Snow personally threatened to have you killed if I didn't convince him and the entire country that Peeta and I are in love, Gale." He visibly relaxes.

"So it was an act? The engagement," he asks, without venom. I, however, don't relax. If anything, my muscles coil like a snake about to strike, and soon, I'm yelling at Gale.

"Gale, are you joking? I tell you that the President is threatening to kill you and you're worried about my relationship with Peeta? Get over yourself," I spit at him. "And if you want me to be honest, no. No, Gale, it isn't an act. Not anymore. That's why I came today. To tell you that I really do love him, Gale. You're my best friend. You'll always be my best friend. But I don't want any more than that."

He takes a few steps back. Take a deep breath. Runs a hand through his hair.

I don't know what else to say, because I've said it all. I hurt him.

He turns on his heel and leaves without saying anything.

When I walk into the house that Peeta and I now share, I throw myself on the couch in the sun room, fuming. Gale. I didn't want to hurt him. I'm tired of hurting everyone. But doesn't anyone care about what hurts me?

I punch the couch cushion a few times, trying to control the anger that threatening to spill out of me. Anger that, before, has caused me to lash out at Mom, or Prim. Peeta, too. I have an issue with anger displacement.

"What's the matter?" I hear a small voice ask. I turn to face the doorway and find Prim standing there, leaning against the doorframe casually. I force a smile at her.

"Nothing, Prim," I say in the gentlest voice I can manage. I wish Gale would just realize that it was never meant to be. I'd never thought about him like that before, and I certainly can't now. Even if Peeta hadn't been reaped, even if our love story never existed—I couldn't care about him like that. Not after the Games. I groan. "That was a lie."

"I know," she says, grinning. She stands up straight and walks over to the couch, plopping down next to me. "You can talk to me, you know. I'm good at keeping secrets." I smile over at her and tousle her hair. Of course she is.

But I don't want to burden my sister with the struggles that I've been given. I don't want to terrorize her with the visions that haunt me, more than half a year after the Games.

"It's all right, Prim," I tell her, wrapping an arm around her and bringing her close to me. She smells sweet, like honey. And she smells like cold air and wind. I hug her tightly, and I wish that there was a way for her to stay with me forever. But she can't, because someday she'll grow up and get a job. She'll get married. She'll have children.

That is, if she doesn't get reaped before she turns eighteen. I let out a huge breath, trying to steady my heart, which pounds erratically against my ribs.

"Katniss," Prim says. Her eyes are a steady blue, like Peeta's, and so is her voice. It's been less than a year since her name was called by Effie Trinket. But she looks so much older.

"Yeah, little duck," I murmur, brushing her hair away from her face again.

"You don't need to worry about me and Mom, you know," she tells me. "Ever since your Games, things have felt different."

"What do you mean, different?" I ask her, moving my head back a few inches so I can look at her better. She sits up and my arm falls from around her.

"You and Peeta gave the country something while you were in the arena," she whispers, her eyes darting around just a little bit. The only part of her that can betray her calm. Just like Peeta. I smile at her. "But it's dangerous." My smile fades, replaced by a small frown. Dangerous? Snow told us that we convinced him, that we convinced everyone.

"Well, what could it be? The only thing I wanted was for him to survive. I didn't want to kill him," I explain, even though she knows that already.

"I know," she replies, her voice steady. "Hope, Katniss. You gave us hope."

I think about it for a moment. In any other situation, in any other place, in any other country—assuming Panem isn't all there is—hope wouldn't be dangerous. But I am in Panem, and I know better. Hope is the small spark that could ignite a fire, a fire thath as the potential to burn out of control, destroying everything in its path. Hope is a dangerous catalyst in Panem.

"It won't happen," I tell her, not to shoot her down, but convince her and myself. Hope is not worth having when it has the potential to destroy your life and steal your loved ones away from you. It is not worth the thousands of deaths that it could cause. Hope is not worth it.

"I'm not saying now," she whispers back to me. "Anyone watching your Tour could see that you love him. Anyone, even the people in the districts, could see that you didn't pull out those berries to be defiant, to outsmart Snow. They know you did it for him, to keep you both alive. To make sure one of you wouldn't be destroyed by the other's death."

"It was obvious? I did a good job?" I ask. This is dangerous to talk about in here, but our voices are so quiet I doubt a camera could pick them up.

"It didn't look like you were doing a job," she laughs. "It looks like you were in love, Katniss. Calm down." She takes a deep breath. "Anyways, I'm sure some outliers think of you as some sort of symbol. But I don't think most would. I think what caused the most problems, at least gauging the reactions of the people in Twelve—" Prim stops for a moment, and studies my face carefully. She will say something that will either hurt me or bring back memories. She will. "It was Rue that did it," she whispers, and like always, her name feels like a bullet wound to the stomach. Everything inside of me feels heavy with lead, heavy with blood dripping from my stomach, running down my legs, swirling around my feet. Her name still pains me.

"I can see that," I say without looking at Prim. I don't want her to see the blurriness in my eyes. The vacancy of their stare. Why did it have to be Prim's name pulled out of the Reaping bowl?

But if I had never volunteered for her, Peeta still would've been reaped. He would have died. I would never have known that he loved me.

Peeta is the only good thing that ever came from the Games.

"Sorry, Katniss," she tells me, clutching my shoulder. "I didn't mean to make you sad. I just wanted to make you feel better. Because you're not responsible for what might happen from here on out." Aren't I, though? I look her squarely in the eyes.

"Yeah, I know," I lie. I'm responsible for the children I killed. For Rue, who I could not save. For the entire nation thinking I was trying to incite a rebellion with those berries. Because even though the nation is soaking in the fuel of uprisings and rebellion, I was the one who dropped match into it. I was the one in whom they found inspiration. It could've been Annie Cresta, who went insane afer winning the 70th Hunger Games, because her district partner she was in love with was decapitated in front of her. Annie and her district partner were the original star crossed lovers. They almost got to win together, like Peeta and I did. But they didn't, and even the Capitol was unhappy with that. No wonder they allowed us to win, after what happened to Annie.

Annie was one of the best tributes I had ever seen, and when she went from warrior to heartbroken lunatic in a matter of seconds, it exposed such a fatal flaw in the Games: the psychological damage that comes with winning. She was one of the only victors who let the world know her damage so publicly. Victors are not glamorous or lucky. They are just people who survived a brutal ordeal, people who struggle day to day to reconcile their new lives with the ones they led before the arena. Annie Cresta should have started this fire. Not me.

In a way, I identify with Annie Cresta. But I wish she would take this burden that was handed with me, because I cannot handle it. Not with the weight of the people I care about on my shoulders.

With that in mind, I turn to my sister. I look at her blonde hair, her blue eyes, her beautiful bone structure—just like Peeta's—and I tell her, "I love you. Never forget that."


	12. Chapter 12

Haymitch throws the front door open unceremoniously and drops into the first chair that he sees. I scowl at him.

"Hello to you, too," I mutter under my breath, trying to focus on the soup I'm ladling into bowls. But I can feel Haymitch's focused stare on the side of my face, so I let out a disgruntled breath and turn to face him. "What?"

"Is the boy home?" he asks. I narrow my eyes when I realize that Haymitch isn't drunk. It's rare to see Haymitch sober, and it usually precludes trouble. He was sober on the Victory Tour, when he was sure that there were threats hanging over our heads.

Haymitch's sobriety is a less-than-welcome presence in my life.

"No," I tell him. "He should be in a minute, though. Why?" I ask, sitting down on a bar stool and sizing Haymitch up. I can tell from the movement of his eyes that he has something to tell us.

I was suspicious when he suggested having dinner with us. I was more suspicious when I saw that he was sober. His sobriety is terrifying, and my heart starts racing and sweat collecting in my palms.

Now that I see his eyes swiveling around the room, I'm so rattled that I want to wrench the truth from Haymitch whether Peeta is here or not. Haymitch is always calm. Haymitch does not look around the room nervously.

Seeing someone who is always so steadfast and strong shaken is like having the carpet ripped out from underneath your feet. I let out a breath. "Okay, okay. Should we go for a walk before dinner? I'm not sure I'm hungry yet," I say, my voice even and controlled.

"That sounds good. It is warming up a little," he notes. I snort. It's still February, so it isn't warmer at all. But it's a good enough excuse for us to wander around a little. I glance nervously at the clock on the wall. Peeta should be home.

"Maybe we should surprise Peeta on his way home from town?" I suggest, trying to keep my voice happy and lighthearted. I can tell from the suppressed smile on Haymitch's face that I don't succeed. I shoot him a scowl.

"Yeah, I think that's a good idea. Come to think of it, I'd like to buy some wine for dinner," he suggests, and I let out a sigh of relief. That's always a good excuse to walk to town. Anyone who's been around Haymitch for longer than five minutes knows that. I slip my boots on at the door and help Haymitch out onto the icy porch. Even if he's sober, his reflexes and his balance aren't what they used to be.

"Careful," I hiss through gritted teeth, as he slips and pulls my arm down. When he manages to right himself, we set off for town at a slow, shuffling pace. This is difficult for me to manage; I'm a ball of nervous and excited energy. When the lights of the square come into view, I whisper to him out of the corner of my mouth, "What's the news?"

"I don't want to have to repeat myself when the boy is here," he mumbles back. "But it has to do with the Quell." The sharp intake of breath into my lungs makes me cough, but I barely notice it. My head is spinning.

The Quarter Quell is a "special" kind of Games that the Capitol puts on every twenty-five years, for the express purpose of keeping the horrors of the Dark Days fresh in everyone's minds. The Quells always come with some sort of heinous twist that guarantees more torture and suffering for the districts. Haymitch won the last Quell.

"We aren't supposed to find out for another couples of months," I tell him, not bothering to keep my voice low. I see Peeta walking out of the sweetshop, waving at someone across the square.

"April 15, actually, but you're ignoring the operative word, sweetheart," Haymitch replies. "We're not 'supposed to.'"

"Peeta!" I call, ignoring Haymitch. He looks around until he sees Haymitch and I walking towards him. When we get close enough to see his face, in the dimming lights of the square, he's wearing a smile that looks more like a grimace. He's worried, whether by our sudden appearance in the square or the fact that Haymitch and I are whispering to each other as we walk arm in arm.

"Sweetheart," Peeta mumbles to me as he pulls me into a hug. Recently, he's started using Haymitch's name for me. But it never sounds callous or rude coming from him. It sounds more like fire crackling in a hearth during a winter storm. I smile at him when he releases me. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," I tell him, trying to smile convincingly. "Haymitch and I wanted to surprise you. Well, I wanted to surprise you. Haymitch wanted to buy wine." Peeta and Haymitch laugh, but you can tell that their laughter is forced.

"Well, it's a nice night for a walk," is all he says. We walk to the shop that sells liquor. The shopkeeper is just flipping the sign so it reads 'closed.' When Peeta taps on the glass, however, he hastens to the door and opens it.

"Sorry, folks. Didn't realize it was you all walking up or I would've kept the sign the way it was," he says apologetically, like he's afraid of denying us entry.

"It's fine, Lane," Peeta replies easily. I forget sometimes that he grew up around these people, forget that he grew up learning the easy give and take of the townspeople. "We can come back tomorrow, if it's too late."

"No, no, it's fine," he tells Peeta, holding the door open for us. "What can I help you with?" I walk up to the counter and look at the small list of wines that they have. I know nothing about this, but sometimes, I try to spare Haymitch the embarrassment of being the town alcoholic.

"Can we just have two red wines and one white, please?" I ask, putting on my best polite face. I hear Haymitch and Peeta whispering hurriedly to one another.

"Sure," he says, and pulls three bottles from the refrigerator. "Anything else?" I look at the man behind the counter and see that the corners of his mouth turn down, not out of disdain for me, but because of having to eke out a living in the poorest district in Panem. I put more money than I usually do on the counter.

"No, thanks," I say back, summoning a more genuine smile than usual. "Have a good night." He puts the cash in the drawer, puts the bottles in a brown paper bag, and writes out a receipt for me. I pocket it and give him one more smile before turning around. "Ready?" I ask them, and they stop talking long enough for us to get out of the shop and into the square.

Haymitch immediately starts walking in the direction of Victor's Village, but a few streets before it, turns onto the dirt road that leads to the Seam. When the shacks and tenements come into view, Haymitch stops abruptly, causing Peeta to run into him, lose his balance, and fall.

"Hey," I say sharply to Haymitch, jabbing him between the shoulder blades. I lean down and help Peeta up. He brushes coal-covered snow from his pants and coat. "Don't do that. You know that his leg makes walking on ice more difficult." Haymitch whirls around and rolls his eyes at me.

"Listen," he says in a low, conspiratorial voice. "We know what the Quarter Quell is." My hand reaches out and finds Peeta's. I can tell from his stance that his muscles are coiled tightly, like he's expecting an attack. I'm not sure I want to hear this. We don't say anything. We just stare at Haymitch. I know as soon as I see his tremor—staring in his fingertips and working its way through his whole body—that this will be bad. I force myself to stay calm, erase any trace of fear on my face, and stare at Haymitch flatly. "This is going to be hard to hear. But you need to know, and you need to know now." Haymitch takes an enormous breath that is tremulous and rough. "You have to understand, there's so much unrest and victors are behind a lot of it. We're all angry and we're all broken in some way or another-"

"Victors?" Peeta interrupts. "What do the other victors have to do with this?" I look at Haymitch, confused, because Peeta's right. The other victors are irrelevant to what he's telling us, because they—we—can't go back into the Games. It's against the—

"No," I breathe. I'm not even sure if I said it at all. I'm not sure if anything is real anymore, and I only know one thing: Snow uses the Games as a weapon to subdue and terrify. If we're the group that needs to be subdued, if we're the group that is nursing along the unrest—

"He's sending us back into the arena," Haymitch tells us.

"No," I say again, louder this time. I say it again, and again, until I'm practically screaming it. Not the arena, not the place of nightmares. I don't pay attention to anything else. Not Peeta, whose hands are trying to coax me to my feet, not Haymitch, who is shaking so hard he might as well be a flimsy straw building in an earthquake.

Peeta's telling me to calm down. Haymitch is pacing back and forth in the snow. I'm staring at some place in the distance. Looking for somewhere to run to.

The only thing that catches my attention is Peeta asking Haymitch, "How do you know?" How does he, indeed. Despite the terror that has consumed my mind and shut down my body, I want to know.

"You don't need to know too much of it," Haymitch tells him. "It's dangerous for you to know too much, with Snow watching you so closely. But we have a plan."

"Plan?" When I'm finally able to speak, my voice sounds hoarse and throaty. I chuckle mirthlessly, "Haymitch, it's the Games. There are no plans."

When he doesn't respond, I just look at him. The old drunk that I hated before I even met him. The sloppy mess that's the closest thing I have to a father. And I realize that, if Snow is reaping tributes from the existing pool of victors, I will be in the arena with him. We will be enemies. I don't cry. I don't scream. I just look at him.

But Haymitch isn't looking at me, he's looking at Peeta. Slowly, reluctantly, I turn to look at the man I survived death and fear and torture with. The man that loves me, the man that has coaxed me into loving him. He's crying, silently, tears dripping slowly, so slowly, down his face.

And I turn and run away.


	13. Chapter 13

I look around stupidly. Broken glass, droplets of blood, and something that looks like vomit litter the floor. It feels vaguely familiar. I don't care that much.

I'm on my hands and knees, I realize, in the cellar of the one the empty houses in the Victor's Village. Faint shafts of moonlight come in through the window wells above my head. I'm cold and wet and winded, but my escape attempt as done nothing to subdue the hysteria rising up inside me.

When I look down at my hands, I'm surprised to find them covered in blood. I'm confused until I see the glass on the ground and I realize I must've broken that glass with my hand to get into wherever I am. I put my head in my hands, not caring that it smears all over my face. I've never cared less about material things, like looks, in my life.

_What am I going to do?_ I'm sobbing to myself, blood mingling with salty tears, a mixture that smells so revolting I vomit on the ground next to me. Another mystery solved.

_What am I going to do?_ I think again. I don't want to go back, not to that place. Sometimes I think I'd rather die than be in the Games again. I rock back and forth, a habit that I've picked up whenever I'm distressed. _What am I going to do?_

Somewhere outside, someone is calling my name. I don't know who. I don't really care. At the moment, I excuse myself from thinking about even those I love most. I think only of me, and what lies ahead.

Maybe if I stay down here, in this musty, dank smelling cellar, they will never find me and I won't have to go back in. _If they can't catch me, they can't kill me._ I laugh, a little unstably, at the words before I realize who once said them. Then I'm gasping for air and choking and screaming into the shirt I've balled up and bitten down on, because Rue will always haunt me. Her and the Games and the people for whose deaths I'm responsible will haunt my footsteps and follow me every second, every moment, for the rest of my life.

I realize the screams will probably alert my family to my location, but I can't stop. As long as Peeta doesn't find me like this—

For the second time tonight, I'm running before I even know why. Running from this basement that is covered with my blood and my vomit, running from my mother and Prim, whose voices I hear calling for me. Running to Haymitch.

I walk into his house almost silently, unsurprised when I see a half-empty bottle in his hand. Drunk as a skunk. When I materialize in his kitchen, he looks as equally unsurprised to see me.

"Ah, there she is. All tuckered out. Finally did the math, did you, sweetheart? Worked out you won't be going in alone? And now you're here to ask me…what? Ask me to die?" he says. I don't answer. The window's wide open and the wind cuts through me just as if I were outside. "I'll admit, it was easier for the boy. Chased after you for a while, then found me. He was here before I could snap the seal on a bottle. Begging me for another chance to go in. But what can you say?" He mimics my voice. "'Take his place, Haymitch, because all things being equal, I'd rather Peeta had a crack at the rest of his life than you?'"

I bite my lip because once he's sad it, I'm afraid that's what I do want. For Peeta to live, even if it means Haymitch's death. No, I don't. He's dreadful, of course, but Haymitch is my family now.

So I don't say anything. I just look at him, wondering what he sees in my eyes. Probably nothing. I am going to die, and he knows it. Finally I say matter-of-factly, "Maybe it should be you. You hate life, anyway."

"Very true," says Haymitch. "And since last time I tried to keep you alive, seems like I'm obligated to save the boy this time."

"That's another good point," I say, wiping my nose and staring at Haymitch emotionlessly.

"Peeta's argument is that since I chose you in the last Games, I now owe him. Anything we wants. And what he wants is the chance to go in again and protect you," says Haymitch.

I knew it. In this way, Peeta's not hard to predict. While I was wallowing around on the floor of that cellar, thinking only of myself, he was here, thinking only of me. Shame isn't a strong enough word for what I feel.

"I don't care if you do love him, you could live a hundred lifetimes and never deserve that boy," Haymitch says without venom. I don't say anything for a long time. I look at Haymitch with the same emotionlessness that I have this whole time.

"We have to save him," I say finally.

Haymitch looks at me speculatively, taking a drink before he answers me in a quavering voice, "If they draw his name, I'll volunteer in his place."

I reach out and grab his hand. "Haymitch, thank you."

"But you do now that if they call my name and he volunteers, there's nothing that I can do."

"You can save him in the arena, like you did for me." Haymitch looks down at the table, some indecipherable emotion in his eyes, and I say, "I don't care what you have to do. Peeta lives, not me." When I finally see him nod, I stand up, dizzy and nauseous, to go home.

"Katniss," he says suddenly. "I have a feeling these Games will be different."

I don't reply, because they won't be. It's the Games. No matter what, people will die, and I will, too. But I nod at him before I walk out the door.

I don't want to go back home. I don't want to face the person I love most in the world, the person who was begging Haymitch to let him go into the arena to protect me, while I ran away and hid and only thought of myself. Shame rushes through me again, but I walk to my—our—front door, and hesitate before I push it open. The first thing I register are the broken glasses on the floor. The second are the strangled sobs drifting down to me from the study.

I walk softly up the steps, not wanting to scare him. But he hears me anyway. He's looking up at me when I enter the doorway, not bothering to conceal the tears tracking down his face.

"What happened to you?" Peeta asks, standing up. "Oh my God, Katniss, look at you." I don't really do anything, or say anything. My eyes search his face for a long time, looking for any hint that he's angry with me for disappearing, for being so selfish, for leaving him alone in his fear. But I don't see any, which makes me feel worse. "Come on," he says, pulling me by the shoulders into the bathroom.

When I look in the mirror, I realize I've forgotten that I'm bleeding. It falls from my hand to the floor, making steady dripping sounds when it hits the tiles. There's still blood on my face, too. I look bad. Peeta pushes me down so I'm sitting on the edge of the tub. While he wipes the blood off my face with a warm washcloth, I don't say anything. While he cleans the cuts on my hand, pulls the little shards of glass out, I don't wince. I just look at him.

We're silent for a long time. It isn't until he's done wrapping bandages around my hand that I say, "I love you. Do you know that?"

Peeta chuckles dryly, pulls me up from my sitting position, and touches my bottom lip with his thumb. "I do know that."

I duck my head and whisper, "I'm sorry I ran away." I began to cry in earnest then, loud, ugly sobs that wrack my entire body. I think of everything that I've shared with Peeta. Every struggle we went through together in the Games, finding each other again, falling in love with each other again, trying to subdue things in the districts, getting engaged, not because we had to, but because we wanted to. Our wedding is supposed to be in April. Nothing hurts worse in this moment than realizing that the life we had planned—dinners with my family, growing closer together, hunting, baking, painting—will never happen.

"It's isn't fair," I cry. "This isn't fair." When I look up, there are tears in his eyes, but he isn't crying. We lost everything in the Games, but we found each other. Now, we'll have to lose each other, too. He'll have to lose me.

"Katniss," he whispers. "Katniss, it's okay. We'll figure it out."

"It's the Games," I manage. "We can't figure anything out."

"Trust me," he murmurs, pulling me into his arms, crooning softly to me until I can stop crying. "Everything will work out, I promise."

"Why are you making promises to me that you can't keep, Peeta?" I ask, wiping the last tears off of my face.

"Because I can," he says with certainly. "I can."

My head whips up when he says this, because it's completely unlike him to make promises that he knows he can't keep. I study his face for a while, trying to find something that'll reveal to me that he's being duplicitous. But I can't. So I say, "I wish I could love you the way you deserve."

"You do."

"I ran away while you were asking Haymitch to let you go back in," I reply. He takes my hand and tugs me towards our room, where he helps me take my dirty, bloody, vomit-spattered clothes off and change into a nightgown.

"I don't care," he tells me, pulling me into bed and tucking the warm covers around me like a child. "I know who you are, Katniss. You were scared, that's all."

"Don't go back in," I whisper as he pulls on a pair of sweatpants and throws the window open. I move deeper into the covers. "Don't. I need you."

"That's exactly why I have to, Katniss," he says matter-of-factly as he gets into bed and switches the lamp that's resting on his bedside table on. He pulls me closer to him so we're nose to nose, but he doesn't kiss me. Just looks at me like he always does, like I'm the only thing worth looking at. Then he whispers, so quietly I almost don't hear him. "There is a plan."

"What does that mean?" I whisper back, but he doesn't answer. So I do what I always have to do to stave off the nightmares; I curl into his warm, strong body and let the beat of his heart lull me into unconsciousness.


	14. Chapter 14

When Peeta wakes me up sometime in the middle of March, I'm screaming wildly. I had been dreaming about being slowly cut open by Finnick Odair while some other nameless, faceless tribute cut the toes and fingers, hands and feet, off of Peeta. I calm down after a moment, though, and he kisses me quickly and asks if I'm alright. I nod, and when I get up, I go downstairs to do what I've been trying to do since I found out about the Quell. Write letters to my mother, write letters to Prim. Tell them I'm sorry and that I wish things could've been different, but that I don't regret volunteering for Prim. But every time I sit down to do it, the words won't come. I try, nearly every day, to write something that Prim will have to remember me by. But I never get further than, 'Dear Prim.' Peeta pulls a pan of cheese buns out of the oven, and when he sees me staring at the blank page, he knows what I'm doing. This time, though, he shoots me a hard look and walks out the front door. I'm puzzled, but I try not to think too long about it. When Peeta gets back thirty minutes later, I'm in the kitchen, I've given up on the letter and instead am making a pot of coffee and eating a cheese bun. He isn't alone, though, which causes me to shoot a venomous look in his direction before I walk upstairs to change. I'm only wearing an oversized t-shirt of his, so Haymitch isn't exactly a welcome sight.

When I get back down, I'm surprised to find no one there. "Peeta?" I call, searching the kitchen and sun room.

"Yeah, sweetheart, we're out front," he calls back. I slip on my boots before I walk into the breezy March morning. The snow is beginning to melt a little in the sun, so we start walking. To where, I don't know. We start out for town, where Peeta stops into the bakery and gets a few apple and goat cheese tarts. He offers the box to me, and I take one immediately because I'm starving.

"Mmm," I murmur. "You weren't wrong, these are good."

"Told you," he replies. He puts his arms around me while we wait for Haymitch to stop vomiting up the alcohol he drank last night. Peeta drops a kiss on the side of my head.

"Where are we going?" I ask quietly, leaning into the warm, fur-lined jacket Peeta's wearing. "I'm suspicious."

Peeta sighs, and his breath tickles my cheeks. He sounds exasperated. Annoyed. Frustrated. "You're right to be," is all he says. A few minutes later, Haymitch is done expelling his stomach's contents and we set off again, this time for the abandoned road in the Seam we went to when Haymitch told us about the Quell. I can tell that Peeta's struggling on the uneven road, so I put my arm around his wait to help him. He smiles down at me, and looks at me in that funny way again. Like I'm the only thing he's ever going to want to look at. I smile back at him, the same feeling warming my chest. Even if I don't deserve him, I do love him more than I ever thought I could.

Finally, we stop. Haymitch pants for a couple of minutes, regaining his breath, before asking, "What the hell did you drag me out of my house for? I told you I-"

"I don't care that you're hungover. Haymitch, Katniss needs to know. It isn't fair for her, thinking that she's going to die," Peeta cuts him off in a hard voice.

"What do I need to know?" I ask, my eyes darting back and forth between them.

"Too dangerous, kid," Haymitch replies, wiping his nose with his dirty sleeve. I wrinkle my nose in disgust.

"It wasn't too dangerous when you told _me_." Haymitch sighs at his words, I'm sure because he knows Peeta's right. About what, I don't really know.

"It's different, kid. Snow is watching her more closely than you, and you can guarantee that won't end when we get to the Capitol," Haymitch barks.

"Tell her," Peeta presses.

"If you're talking about Haymitch saving me instead of yo—" I start, but Haymitch's low, rough whisper cuts me off.

"No, it isn't about that. I'm sure you've gathered that there is a rebe—a network, in the Capitol and among the Districts?" Haymitch growls at me, clearly displeased that he has to tell me this.

"I suppose," I say slowly.

"Well, that network has been waiting for the right time to _change things,_" Haymitch emphasizes. "If you understand what I'm saying." I do understand. There is too much anger in the districts for it to stay contained for long, and that anger should be directed somewhere. The time is ripe for an uprising. I nod. "Plutarch Heavensbee, the Head Gamemaker, is with us. He's going to break you out."

I stand, dumbfounded, for the longest time. Break us out? Out of where, the arena? Can that even be done? I don't say anything to Haymitch, even though he looks like he's expecting me to say something. Peeta looks nervously between us, and starts explaining that ever since I held out those berries, people have been rallying behind me. They want to break us out and take us to District Thirteen, which as it turns out, is not destroyed. They brokered a deal with the Capitol: they move underground, pretending to be destroyed, and they survive. So that's what they did. They moved Thirteen underground, and let us believe for seventy-five years that they didn't exist. Peeta starts to continue about how I'm the symbol of the rebellion when I interrupt him.

"How am I the symbol?" I ask. "Snow said that we convinced him, that we helped quell the unrest in the districts. That doesn't make any sense."

"I think," Haymitch begins, "that he thought you did at first. He believed your love story. So did everyone else. Then, I don't know how much later, things in the districts started back up again. At the end of the day, whether you pulled out those berries for love or to defy him, it doesn't matter to people. You still defied him, you still rebelled. The reasons why don't matter to them. You forget that you did rebellious things in the arena before the berries," Haymitch finishes. I think of Rue, the spear going into her stomach. Singing to her as she died. Covering her with flowers. Thanking the people of District 11 for the bread. I nod.

"When did you find out about this?" I ask Peeta, who is looking at me speculatively, like he can't figure out when I'm thinking. He pulls me closer to him.

"Haymitch told me the night we found out about the Quell. The only reason I didn't tell you is because Snow's watching you too closely. Haymitch didn't want you to give it away, somehow." Peeta looks at me apologetically. "I just couldn't watch you sit at the kitchen table anymore, writing your last words to your family because you were planning on dying for me. Neither of us has to die, Katniss," he tells me. "We just have to stay alive until they can get us out."

"Which, we believe, won't be for that long," Haymitch puts in. "So just stay alive."

"So you were going to let me believe that I was either going to die or I would lose you?" I ask, looking at Peeta with hard eyes. "That's cheap of you."

Peeta's lip quivers a bit, and he looks at the ground. Since he won't meet my eye, I glare over at Haymitch. "You should've told me."

"No, I was right to keep this from you," he shoots back. "I don't know if you remember, sweetheart, but your acting skills leave much to be desired."

"Don't use last years Games against me," I protest. "That's different."

"Oh, so you'll be able to act like you don't know anything?" Haymitch snorts. "Act like a scared, confused little girl instead of a rebel?"

"Yes," I tell Haymitch stonily. "I'll still be scared and confused. It's the Games. And I'm not a rebel, Haymitch. I just want to get us both out of there alive."

I glance over at Peeta, who's still looking at his feet. "You should've told me," I say again, but the venom is gone from my voice. "Both of you."

Peeta looks up at me and mouths _I'm sorry_. I nod at him, because he's all too easy to forgive. Since we've obviously exhausted our ability to talk about the Quell, I bring up another pressing subject that's gnawing at the back of my mind.

"What about the weddings?" I ask, because even though it shouldn't matter in the face of the Games, somehow it still does. The ring on my finger catches the weak sunlight, glittering and throwing light everywhere.

"We aren't supposed to know about the Quell until mid-April. Your weddings are on the 3rd and 5th of April. You don't have much of a choice but to go through with it," Haymitch says. I breathe a sigh of relief. At least I'll be bound to Peeta in one more way before we go back in, at least I'll have one more way to show him that I love him.

"Okay," Peeta and I say at the same time. We look at each other and I grin despite my anger, because I'm feeling unexpectedly lightweight after the revelation that we could both live. All we need to do is survive until they can get us out.

Our hands find each other, gripping so tightly it should hurt, but it doesn't. We know that there's only way for us to survive: together.


	15. Chapter 15

**Hey guys. Just a quick note. I'm fudging the dates of when the Quell is formally announced a little, mostly because it works better with the narrative that I've built. I've no idea when the Games actually happen, June or July, but I'm just going with June because what the hell. Anyway, I'm sure the Quell was announced earlier than April in the books, but like I said, for the plot I've developed, this works better. Thanks for reading, and please review!**

The weather has warmed up considerably as we move into April. Almost like it changed specifically for our wedding. The sun warms my face a little as Peeta and I walk back from my mother's house.

A wave of fatigue and nausea comes over me and I have to stop walking for a moment and sit down on the sidewalk. I press my fingers over my mouth, and Peeta squats to brush the hair from my clammy forehead and murmurs, "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," I whisper to him, wiping away some sweat on my neck. "Just worried about the Quell and the weddings."

"I know," he says, putting his hands under my armpits and hauling me to my feet. "We don't have to do the first one, you know."

"The first wedding isn't the one that's stressing me out," I say sharply. Our private wedding, with just our families and friends, is tomorrow. I'm not too worried about that one. I've checked with the Capitol officials, who say it's fine that we've already filed a marriage license. We'll be officially married by this time tomorrow; however, the Capitol officials told us that the only wedding we're allowed to have is the one in the Capitol. So long as they don't find out, we'll be fine.

The second wedding is the one that's worrisome. The Capitolites have already picked out my dress, and where we're having our honeymoon. They've decided on the venue—which, of course, is in President Snow's mansion. They've decided everything.

I hate it. Coupled with the fact that, in June, I will be in the arena again, I can barely sleep. I have nightmares of Peeta being gutted with a spear at our wedding, President Snow licking his blood from his teeth while the audience cheers. Peeta isn't sleeping, either. Even though we both know there's a considerable chance we'll both make it out of the Games, we worry. He cries, sometimes. We both worry about getting separated, and only one of us being rescued. But we're managing.

I study him out of the corner of my eye as we walk home. There are dark shadows under his eyes. But when he catches my eye, it's almost as if they disappear. His teeth glisten in the weak spring sunlight, and the sun's long fingers warm the skin on his face, creating a golden halo around him. He looks indescribable. Like an angel.

"Are you nervous for the weddings?" I ask him, trying to act nonchalant. Like I wasn't just studying him, trying to memorize him, praying that he'd be mine forever.

Peeta snorts. "No. I've wanted to marry you since I was five."

"Sorry I didn't want it until recently," I remark offhandedly. He rolls his eyes at me and grins.

"At least you do now," he whispers menacingly. His smile is wicked. I step back, because I know he's about to do something. When he doesn't, I turn away from him, trying to conceal the grin on my face. The breath is knocked out of me when he picks me up, throws me over his shoulder, and opens the door to our house. He slaps my behind, and says, "If you hadn't, I'd never be able to do this." He moves me down from his shoulder and leans me against the wall, my legs wrapped around him. At first I'm annoyed, because we have bigger things to worry about. The weddings. The Games. But when his lips fall against mine and my hands wander underneath his shirt and his cup my bottom and it feels so good, so warm—that when he tugs the shirt over my head and throws me on the couch, I don't object. I just let our bodies move together until—as always—we kindle a fire that consumes both of us.

PB

My prep team doesn't know about the wedding. Only Cinna, who sent me a package with makeup and instructions on how to use it. The colors are nude and natural, and I'm thankful to have someone who knows me so well. My mother moves the small brushes over my eyelids, runs the brown pencil along the line of my eyelashes, sweeps the powder and blush onto my face, does my hair in the elegant braids I wore last year to the Reaping. Prim helps her lower the dress—light green—over my head and helps me into the sandals that cord around my calves. My mother doesn't notice how much I am shaking, but Prim does. She touches me lightly on the shoulders and tells me, "Hey. You don't need to be afraid. You know that." I release a long breath, because Prim is right. Peeta loves me. I love Peeta. This wedding is private. Personal. I do not need to be afraid.

"You're right," I tell her. My mother finishes with her own hair and looks over at me.

"It shouldn't take more than ten minutes. You and Peeta will say your vows, exchange rings, and then we'll go home to have cake and do the toasting, of course."

"Right," I say. I glance in the mirror. I look nice. Like a prettier version of my natural self. The green dress Cinna made for me is light and airy, and the crisscrossing cords of the brown sandals make me look like I have come from the earth itself. It'll be over in ten minutes, I remind myself. That doesn't entirely stop the shaking, though.

Peeta and I decided to have the wedding in the Meadow in the Seam. There won't be any Peacekeepers there today, as Haymitch asked Darius to keep all of them away. It isn't odd for people to be in the Meadow, but it would be fairly obvious what was going on to any Peacekeeper who saw. On the off chance that one wanders by, we decided to keep the ceremony short and sweet.

"Are you ready?" My mother asks, touching my arm gently. I spin my eyes around to her and study her face. Even with the lines in her face that weren't always there, she's beautiful. Delicate, like a flower. Her and Prim are cut from the same cloth. I'm more like the trunk of a willow tree. Sturdy. Dependable. Good-looking in a way that doesn't suggest weakness.

"Yes," I whisper. My mother's eyes cloud over, and I hug her fiercely. "I love you, Mom."

"Me, too, Katniss," she says back, her voice choked.

Prim takes my hand and we walk out of my mother's old house in the Seam, which still belongs to her. It is a five minute walk to the Meadow. The only people there are Peeta, Haymitch, Hazelle, and Peeta's father and brothers. His mother declined our invitation, but Peeta knew she would. Everyone is standing, and I ask my mother the time. She tells me that we are due to begin in one minute. She walks to the head of the crowd where she will repeat Peeta and I's vows to each other. Prim follows her, as she will stand next to me as my only bridesmaid. I walk over to Haymitch.

"Can't believe they stuck me with this job," Haymitch grumbles. I'm shaking so hard Haymitch feels it, too.

"Oh shut up," I shoot back at him. "My mother assumed you'd want the job, considering you're the closest thing I have to a dad, miserable as you are, and I'm the closest thing you have to a kid."

"I guess," he says, the venom gone from his voice. "Even if you are self-righteous and annoying."

"Welcome to fatherhood, you old piece of shit," I tell him, elbowing him in the ribs. He laughs and I put my arm in his. Before we start walking, though, I whisper to Haymitch, "Please don't let me fall."

"I won't if you won't," he whispers back. I know it's a joke, because he isn't too drunk today. Sober enough to function. Peeta's dad strikes up a quick tune on the fiddle and Haymitch walks me to where Peeta, his brother, my mother, and Prim are standing.

When I finally look up at Peeta, his face crumples and a few tears leak out of his eyes. I brush them from his cheeks and he gives me a watery smile. My eyes cloud a little, and he tells me, "I swear to God, as long as I live, I'll never forget the way you look right now." The sun shines behind him and long beams of sunlight fall over his face. His eyes are clear and blue and the sun glints off his long, blond eyelashes. I think I too will never forget the way he looks right now. It has already been embroidered in my memory with threads of gold and red and deep green, a tapestry that draws out the best day of my life.

My mother clears her throat. "As you know, we're here to celebrate the marriage of my daughter, Katniss, and Peeta. They've suffered and grown together in a way that few people understand, and out of adversity, a great and true love has been sown. Peeta, if you'll begin with the traditional wedding vow of District 12," my mother speaks gracefully, her eloquence simple and understated. Peeta nods and looks down at me, a smile started at the corners of his mouth and spreading to the bright blue of his eyes.

"I, Peeta Mellark, take you to be my lawfully wedded wife. Before these witnesses I vow to love you and care for you as long as we both shall live. I take you with all your faults and your strengths as I offer myself to you with my faults and strengths. I will help you when you need help, and I will turn to you when I need help. I choose you as the person with whom I will spend my life." His voice breaks on the last word, and he lets the tears he's been holding in fall down his face.

"I, Katniss Everdeen, take you to be my lawfully wedded husband. Before these witnesses I vow to love you and care for you as long as we both shall live. I take you with all your faults and your strengths as I offer myself to you with my faults and strengths," I managed to get this far, but when I reach the word 'strengths,' my voice breaks and I have to cough to get rid of the lump in my throat. It doesn't work. My voice grows quieter. "I will help you when you need help, and I will turn to you when I need help. I choose you as the person with whom I will spend my life."

My mother dabs her eyes with a handkerchief, and Prim brings forward the wedding bands we selected for each other. Peeta slips mine—a delicate silver band with small green jewels circling round the band in an infinity sign. I slide his, a simple silver ring with the word 'together' engraved on the side, on his ring finger, and I lean forward and kiss him, trying to pour the words that so often fail me into the gesture. His hand finds my face, and I can feel his quiet, steadfast voice telling me, "I love you. We're in this together."

Twilight is beginning to darken the sky when we make it back to Victor's Village. Our guests have gone home briefly to collect their food and gifts, but also to give us the one moment that will truly make us married.

We reach the front porch of our house, and Peeta lifts me into his arms unsteadily. "You know, I could always carry you over the threshold," I say wickedly.

"Oh shut up," he grins down at me. "Just because you're tougher and stronger than me doesn't mean you can take this moment from me."

"What moment?" I ask, as he kicks open the door.

"The first time you come home as my wife," he tells me, dropping a kiss on my cheek.

"I love you," I say as he sets me down. Peeta wanders to the living room, where he kindles a fire in the hearth, and I pull the loaf of bread from the oven, both of us working together as if we've had each other memorized since the beginning of time. When I set the loaf down in front of the fireplace and lower myself to the ground, Peeta deftly cuts off the heel of the loaf and tosses it into the fire. The second piece of bread he cuts, he quickly spears on the end of a metal stick.

"This is it," he whispers. In the semi-darkness of the room, I swear Peeta is a dream. The fire casts long shadows across his face, ever-flickering, ever-changing. The sunset outside fades into a muted blue, and I cannot move my eyes from the hazy cerulean of Peeta's eyes.

"I feel like I've waited a thousand years for you," I whisper.

"Maybe it's just the universe telling you that we were meant to collide," he murmurs.

"Maybe," I breathe, as my hand finds his; as we lower the bread into the fire that throws shadows over us, as we find each other—maybe for the first time.


	16. Chapter 16

When I wake up, rays of light are falling through the crack between the curtains that cover the bedroom window. Judging by the angle of the sun, it's late morning. When I manage to roll out of bed, Peeta doesn't even move. He just keeps snoring, his face buried in his pillow. I meander to the small kitchen in our cottage and open a few cupboards, looking for a coffee maker. After fifteen minutes of fruitless searching, I slam a cupboard shut and call the Capitol attendant staying in the cottage next to ours. Within ten minutes, he's knocking at the door with two coffees in hand. I murmur a quick thank you and shut the door, thinking of District 12 and thinking of Prim. She would have arrived home yesterday afternoon, wrapped in expensive clothes that Cinna designed just for her.

I wish I were in Twelve, instead of Four. But the people of the Capitol chose our honeymoon destination, so they sent us to the white shores of District 4. It is beautiful here, in a pristine, tropical, untouchable kind of way. But I prefer the rugged, lived in beauty of Twelve. The kind of beauty that reminds me of a fire crackling in a hearth after a cold fall day. Peeta, who has never been to the woods outside of Twelve, disagrees. He does not think Twelve is particularly beautiful. But I can't blame him for that opinion, because he's never seen the tall pines that stand watch over the forest. He's never seen the glitter of the lake, surrounded on all sides by sycamores. He has never experienced the smell of pine wrapping around him as the spring breeze lifted every leaf and every branch, made them dance, made the forest come alive.

When I think of what Peeta would be like in the forest, it almost elicits a laugh from me. I imagine him stepping on every leaf, stumbling over ever tree root, making so much noise that we don't see an animal for miles. Instead of annoying me, the idea of it makes me happy. If we were back in the Games, it would drive me insane. His clumsiness was a hindrance then, it targeted us. But I was also a harder, colder person then. In the near year that has passed since we went to the Capitol, poised against each other, he has lit a fire inside of me that has warmed me. Somewhat.

I go to the bedroom and set Peeta's coffee on the bedside table. I'm sure he'll wake soon, so I leave him a note that simply says, _On the porch. –K_

The air outside the cottage is warm and smells like sea salt. This will be the only thing I miss when our honeymoon is over—sitting in the salty air, trying to look past the end of the horizon to where the sea ends. It is extraordinarily calming, sitting by the ocean. I think idly of Prim and the Games that are coming up in two months' time. I worry. Worry that we'll be separated or that one of us will die. Worry that when it happens, when we break out, Snow will try to kill my family.

But it's hard to worry when I'm staring into the turquoise abyss. It's hard to worry when Peeta and I are living in a world that is so idyllic that we can barely remember our own. The cottage that we're vacationing in isn't located inside the cities of District 4, of which there are many. It's only because we're so popular in the Capitol that we were even permitted a honeymoon in another district-especially one that is experiencing considerable unrest. We have a Capitol attendant that fetches us food and whatever else we need, and we sit-isolated but together-in the pretty little cottage that high-ranking government officials have stayed in before. The thought of it makes me nauseous. But I have Peeta to help me weather my dark, ever-changing moods that take me over like a thunderstorm sweeping across the sea.

I'm not sure how long I sit in the wooden lounge chair, staring at the sea, listening to the gentle crash of waves, hearing the call of seagulls, allowing a world—so different from my own, but just as strikingly beautiful in its own way—to come alive around me. Eventually I close my eyes and let the smells and sounds of this oceanside world seep through my skin and into my body.

It's only because I'm so used to relying on my senses in the forest that I notice Peeta has dropped into the chair next to me. I don't open my eyes, don't say anything—I just reach my hand over and rest it on the arm of his chair. His fingers—not rough and calloused, as Gale's would have been, but soft and warm—lace through mine. My blind perception of the world around me shifts ever so slightly; rather than focusing on the light pounding of the waves falling to shore, I listen instead to the sound of his breath. Take in the slight shifting sounds his body makes as he moves in his chair, let his long exhales become the soundtrack to my happiness, the partner of my own heartbeat.

We sit in silence—not the long, uncomfortable, stifling silence that feels like a rubber band being stretched to breaking point, but a content, stretching, moving silence that is alive as the both of us—for a long time. I don't want to go back to reality; I don't want to face the fact that in two months, I will have to kill again. I want to escape the world, I want to escape Panem.

"Peeta?" I manage to choke out.

He opens his eyes and rolls his body towards mine. He brushes a kiss against my knuckles. "What?"

"I'm scared," I tell him.

"Shh," he tells me. He tugs my hand and pulls me up from the chair. We walk, in silence, to the edge of the water. Peeta motions for me to sit down and I do, stretching my legs out so that when the tide comes in, the water cascades over my feet. "We have a good chance, Katniss. We've been training. The Capitol loves us. Haymitch will keep us alive," his words are well-intentioned, but they do little to ease the worry that tightens my chest. He pulls me up from the chair and towards the sea. I furrow my eyebrows in confusion, but he gives me a reassuring smile that looks somewhat forced. When we get far enough into the surf, he pulls me in for a long kiss before telling me, "I'm scared, too. If things don't work out, if the plan fails-" Peeta avoids my eyes for a moment, and I duck my head so I can look at him properly. "What?" he asks.

"What is it that you aren't telling me?" I ask, my eyes narrowed and suspicious.

"It's nothing, Katniss. Just that if things don't work, we'll probably be arrested and executed," he whispers. He looks over his shoulder for a moment, and seeing a man with a camera about a mile away, looks back at me. "There's a cameraman." I try to relax, but as always, my emotions betray me. So Peeta splashes me with water, which coaxes a smile out of me. Picking me up and swinging me around, he gives me a long, lingering kiss that stirs something deep inside of me. Even from here, I can hear the shutter of the camera clicking away. Pulling away, I sigh. "I know," he murmurs, pushing my hair behind my ear, knowing how much I hate cameras intruding on our most private moments. He gives me a small kiss on the nose, and after awhile, the cameraman goes away.

"I know that we'll be executed if it doesn't work," I tell him, rubbing circles into the palm of his hand. "But we'd still die in the Games if it weren't for Thirteen and Plutarch's plan. Better to be executed that have some long, drawn out death for the cameras."

"I guess you're right," he murmurs, pulling my hand up to his face. "Still scares me, though."

"Me, too. Let's go take a shower," I say. He smiles again, this time for real, and it forces a smile out of me, too.

When we get back inside, Peeta pulls me into the bathroom and kisses me. Before I fell in love with Peeta, before we were back together, I didn't realize the power of physical love. To me, it was a means to an end. People slept together to have children, and that was that. There was no other point to it, in my eyes. But the first night we slept together, I realized quickly that there's nothing more powerful, nothing more joyful, that tying yourself to someone forever in that way. So when he kisses me roughly and pulls me tighter to him, I don't pull away; instead, I lift his shirt over his head and let my lips find his neck. When he throws my nightdress into the corner of the room and pulls me into the shower with him, I realize that nothing—nothing on Earth—could be better.

Hours later, I'm sprawled out lazily on the sofa, eating a cheese bun, flipping through stupid Capitol television channels while Peeta makes lunch. I eventually walk to the kitchen to get something to drink, and peek into the pan on the stove.

"What're you making?" I ask, casually lifting the lid of the pan. The smell of frying meat is suddenly overwhelming, and when Peeta tells me he's making hamburger soup, I barely hear him because I'm fighting the urge to retch.

"What's wrong?" Peeta asks, putting his hand against my forehead. "Are you sick, Katniss? You're sweating."

"I don't—I don't know," I answer, unable to hold in my vomit any longer, so I throw up in the kitchen sink. "Will you carry me to the bathroom?" Peeta lifts me gently into his arms, and sets me down in front of the toilet. I throw up one more time, but as soon as it comes up, I feel instantly better. "Thank God," I moan. Peeta dabs the sweat off my face, pausing to run his fingers through my hair intermittently, sometimes running his thumb against my lips.

"Katniss," he mumbles eventually. "You need to take a pregnancy test."

"No, I don't," I tell him automatically.

"Sweetheart," he tries, "we haven't exactly been safe." I bury my head in my hands, recoiling from the suggestion I could be pregnant. I can't be pregnant, I don't want to be pregnant. I sigh into my palms and manage to look up at Peeta. He doesn't try to say anything else, but our eyes cling to eachothers'. It would be all of my worst nightmares coming true, being pregnant. Bringing a child into _this_ kind of world.

But it might not be this kind of world soon. In four months, I could very well be in District 13, where Peeta's child would be safe. I push the thought out of my mind, because there's no point in thinking about this until we know for sure.

Peeta moves away from me eventually, opens the cupboards underneath the sink, and digs around for a while before he pulls a long, thin plastic wrapper out. "I wonder why they would have these here," he muses. "I suppose if they have male enhancement pills in their vacation homes, they'd have these, too, though." I don't pay attention to his words, because nearly every fiber of my body is desperately hoping that I'm not pregnant.

Nearly.

"But what if I don't want to know?" I whisper to him when he hands it to me, finally letting my face betray all of the fear I feel. I never wanted kids. Not here, not in Panem. Not in a world where they could be taken away from me so easily. I've built up my defenses so that I recoil at the mention of children.

But in a different world, would I recoil or would I want this with Peeta? "Go stand outside," I say tiredly. He doesn't move, though, and reminds me that we were in the Hunger Games together. We don't have anything to hide from each other. "Fine."

I pee on the stick. I put the cap back on, and Peeta sets it upside down on the sink. He tries to smile at me. I try to smile at him. Instead, we speak with our eyes, and I know that Peeta is plagued by the same fears as I am. That our child would be reaped, thrown into the Games, condemned to die. Or condemned to live with the faces of the children they killed branded on the back of their eyes. That our child would live as another lined, tired, and weary face in a nation of slaves. That he is just as afraid as I am. That no matter how much love we could give to our child, we still don't know if it would be enough to give it a long life full of happiness and joy. We look at each other, gray and blue meeting and mixing and melting until we have no words left to say, hearts and minds bereft of anything worth mentioning. So he hugs me so tightly I am lifted off the ground, and I hug him back so tightly that my legs wrap around his waist and my face is buried in the soft, warm flesh between his neck and shoulders.

These arms could shield me from anything; they are warm and strong and steady. They are the only arms that have made me feel safe since my father died. When we finally let go, Peeta looks at his watch and tells me, "Time's almost up."

He takes a deep, unsteady breath full of a thousand emotions—fear and anticipation and excitement and worry and _fear_—and looks down at the stick. He doesn't say anything for a long time, and I don't look at the stick. I'm studying his face—studying his reactions, focused on him, the only real thing that exists—when I see fear and happiness battling in his eyes and I know. I just know what it says. Eventually, happiness must win out, because he smiles at me and tells me, "Katniss, we're going to be parents."

"Oh my God," I whisper. "Oh my God." I put my head in my hands and rock back and forth, reciting the words in my mind. _Baby. Parents. Baby. Parents. Baby. Baby. Baby._ What am I supposed to feel? What am I supposed to do? My first thought is to throw myself down a flight of stairs, and my second is to run.

So that's what I do. I run outside, run to the soft white sand and sit down. If Peeta wanted to, he could follow me. But he doesn't, probably because he knows how badly I never wanted this. I stuff my shirt into my mouth and scream, not even caring if a photographer found me. I scream and scream and scream until my voice gives out, and then I cry. A child. A child that, no matter how hard we tried, ultimately we couldn't protect it. My child, sent to die in the Games. My child, starving to death. My child, working twelve hours a day for scraps. This is everything I didn't want. I want to be angry at Peeta, I want to scream at him and throw things at him. Somewhere, the rational part of me is telling me that we were both stupid. We both casually disregarded what the consequences would be, we were both so foolishly in love that we didn't stop to consider that we'd be punished.

I lay there for so long, the sun begins to set. Peeta doesn't come after me, and I think that maybe I've gone too far this time. He's terrified, too. But still, I don't move. I stare up at the darkening sky and try to imagine my life, months from now, years from now.

Unbidden, an image flashes before my eyes: Peeta, holding a newborn baby, tears running down his face. Peeta sleeping peacefully with our child resting against his chest. A toddler with fat legs and dark hair. Peeta's smile on his face, Peeta's eyes shining back at me.

I am terrified and overwhelmed with love for this abstract human at the same time. Half Peeta, half me. Prim's niece or nephew. My mother and Haymitch playing grandparents to the child. Teaching it how to bake, teaching it how to hunt. It isn't until I think of the child, tottering towards me on chubby, unsteady legs, calling me 'Mama,' that I get up and walk inside.

Peeta's head jerks up when I walk in. He doesn't smile at me, and I don't smile at him. But he still opens his arms to me and I walk straight into them. When I start to sob, he runs his hands up and down my back, skimming down my hair, pulling me tighter. He whispers, "You okay?" into my ear and I manage to nod. I sniffle and wipe the tears off my face before climbing off of him.

"I'm sorry I ran away," I whisper. A small smile creeps onto his lips.

"You say that a lot," he remarks.

"I do," I say. We stare at each other for a few moments, content to communicate with just our eyes. Content to lose ourselves in each other.

"Foods done," he finally said. I manage a smile, because the food's been done for hours. But I'm starving and he brings me a massive bowl of soup, and one for him, too.

"You didn't eat?" I ask, scarfing down the lukewarm soup.

"Couldn't," he replies. It's then that he lets me see all of the fear and happiness and terror in his eyes. I set my bowl down on the table and turn towards him.

"I'm terrified," I admit. "But we can do this."

"You never wanted kids, Katniss," he whispers, letting the fear back into his voice. "What changed?"

"Nothing did," I tell him. "I don't want children. Not here, not in Panem. But by the time the Quell is over we'll either be dead or—" I glance around the room, but Peeta just nods. "Then, like magic, I saw you with it. Our baby," I say for the first time. Our baby. "You want this, Peeta. Don't tell me that you don't. And you'll be a perfect father. I just realized out there that i-it—I mean—the b-baby, it's half you."

"And half you," he breathes, bringing his hand up against my face.

"After that, just like you and your father, I was a goner," I whisper.


	17. Chapter 17

**Hey guys, I'm not sure if any of you will be disappointed with this, but I've decided to go back and rewrite the last few chapters. I've decided that the original Quell from the books is too central to the plot of the trilogy to change, and to be honest, I'm kind of hitting some writer's block. I'm not enthusiastic enough about this plot line, and am not doing my best work as a result. Anyway, if you want to re-read, I'm starting with Chapter 12, when they find out about the Quell, and working from there. My rewritten chapters should be up in about an hour, so don't worry! Like always, I'm so glad to have you all as readers. Stay with me on this story!**


	18. Chapter 18

I'm lying in bed, dozing off, when I hear Peeta open the front door. The hot May air is just beginning to cool down, and a gentle breeze drifts through the open window. When he comes into the bedroom, he only gives me a brief kiss on the forehead before going into the bathroom. The smell of his sweat lingers in the room long after the shower turns on.

In spite of my terrible mood, the sound of him humming the tune of a song I can't quite place is enough to bring a feeble smile to my face. After my morning in the woods, hunting and honing my shooting skills, I'm exhausted and annoyed. My new body—I still think the word _new _resentfully—isn't as capable as my old one. Even though my nausea is slowly going away, my body runs out of energy quickly. Frustrated, I shot only a few rabbits and squirrels before giving up and heading back home.

I wasn't alone in the woods, though. I was traipsing through the woods, exhausted, when I came to a spot I hadn't sat in months. A rock, wide enough for two people, concealed in enough shrubbery and foliage that they could look out into the valley without being seen from behind. I had sighed, tired of feeling so distant from my old life. So I sat on the rock, noting that it was too wide for me, realizing that it felt so much colder without Gale's body next to mine.

"Catnip," I heard him say after a while. I jerked my head up at the sound of his voice, to find Gale standing twenty or so feet away from me. I looked at him for a few moments, unsure of what I was supposed to say. We'd barely seen each other in months, and when we did, we were cold and formal to each other. I missed him, but I was too stubborn to say so.

Finally, I managed a smile, feeble and weak though it may have been. I scooted over on the rock, and he came to sit next to me. We didn't speak for a while, we just sat and looked out over the valley. I was thinking the whole time about where we'd be if I never won the Games, if I'd never met Peeta. Probably sitting in this same spot, but without the miles of distance that stretch between us.

"If you had never won the Games," Gale began, and I was struck by his ability to follow my thoughts so closely, "would I have had any chance at all?"

"I don't know," I said honestly. "I never even thought about you like that, Gale. Not once." The sharp intake of breath from him meant that I had wounded him, but I didn't particularly care.

"I did," he whispers.

"I can't read minds, Gale. It's like Peeta expecting me to know he was in love with me even though he never said a word to me for eleven years," I had snapped. He didn't say anything, so after a while, I continued. "I don't know, Gale. Maybe we would have ended up together. But we didn't."

"You want to be with him," Gale had remarked. His voice was sad at the same time it was matter of fact. There was no enmity or venom polluting its gentle tones. I finally looked over at him, looked into his eyes. Light gray, like my own. Surrounded by an olive, middling skin color, like my own. I tried to summon some sort of feeling, wishing that I didn't have to wound him. But I knew as soon as I was wishing that his eyes were blue, wishing that he were someone else, that I had to.

"Yes," I had breathed. "I told you that months ago." The silence stretched between us for so long I thought he was never going to speak again. Eventually I said, "That doesn't mean that I don't love you, Gale."

"Just not in the same way I do," he'd observed. "I don't want to lose you," he admitted after another moment of silence.

"Me either," I replied, trying to smile at him again. "I never wanted to lose you." So he had put on a gallant, brave face and started talking to me about everything I'd missed since I moved into the Victor's Village. Teaching Rory how to shoot, how long and exhausting his days at the mine were, the mood in the district. I followed along, nodding sometimes, asking questions at other times. We sat there for maybe an hour, him speaking, me listening. When he was finally done, I had the overwhelming urge to tell him everything. How scared I was for the Quell, how scared I was that the breakout wouldn't work, how scared I was to be a mother. He knew about the Quell, of course. They had announced it only a few days after Peeta and I returned from our honeymoon in District 4. But he knew about nothing else.

"I'm pregnant," I blurt out. "I know you hate that I'm with Peeta and I know you're probably angry, but I had to tell someone that would understand how scared I am."

"Oh," is all he had said. He didn't react, other than that. We sat in silence again, for a long time, until he whispered, "I miss you."

"I miss you, too," I had told him. I looked at him and again studied his gray eyes. Smelled the scent coming off of his skin, like oranges and something distinctly male. Looked at his long, deft, capable fingers, and said, "Just not in the same way."

"I know," he'd replied. "Are you happy?"

"I don't know," I told him honestly. "I'm happy with Peeta, I mean. I love him. But this baby is something I never wanted. Especially considering the Quell."

"You'll love it," Gale said. He looked at his fingers before smiling up at me halfheartedly. I didn't have to remind him that I might not survive, the baby might not survive. "I do understand that you're scared, and I guess maybe I always knew I'd lose you to him. So I'll try not to be such a bad sport."

I hugged him then, not knowing if I'd see him before I left for the Quell, before I took part in the biggest act of defiance the country had seen since the Dark Days. We parted ways, then, after I gave him everything in my game bag, after he hugged me again.

I should be in a great mood, considering I've reconciled with my best friend after months of stony silence. But I'm not, because I still have to lie to him and everyone else. Mom, Prim, Gale, everyone. Tell them that everything will be okay, watch them cry whenever I mention the Quell. It's clear that no one thinks me or Peeta will survive. I wish I could scream at them and tell them everything, but I can't. Because it's dangerous enough that even I know about the plan.

Neither my mom or Prim know about the baby yet, which is another reason I'm in a terrible mood. While Peeta and Haymitch have been off training all afternoon, I have been lying in bed, exhausted, trying to think of how I'm supposed to tell my mother that, not only will I be going into the arena again, but I'll be going into the arena with a baby inside of me. I snort aloud as I imagine her initial look of disapproval, followed by her look of horror as she realizes what it means. I don't even think about Prim's reaction.

Peeta and I are going to tell them tonight, we decided. After a long night of scheming with Haymitch, we decided that during our interviews, one of us will tell the Capitol about the pregnancy. Maybe as a last ditch effort to cancel the Games, maybe as a last ditch effort to instill a sense of anger and unrest in the people. Maybe both. So Peeta suggested we tell my family tonight, instead of letting them find out with the rest of Panem. To be honest, I'd rather they find out when I'm thousands of miles away from them. I don't want to see or hear their reactions.

But I drag myself out of bed anyway, barge into the bathroom, and get into the shower with Peeta, who's still humming. I put my arms around him, letting the feel of his slippery, wet skin and his thudding heart calm me down. I don't say anything to him, I just embrace him until my own heart has slowed and the cool water of the shower has rinsed away any trace of nervous sweat from my body.

Peeta's hands drift down to my abdomen, which is just beginning to poke out. Even if I don't really care what I look like, it's frustrating that there's more of my body than I'm used to. My breasts have already swollen, and my bottom has grown a little in size as well. My body doesn't even belong to me anymore, which is a fact that I remind myself of daily.

I've come around to the idea of being pregnant, the idea that in a few months, I'll have a child. But it's hard to be happy when I feel so awful all the time. But when I watch Peeta, it changes a little, my thoughts, I mean. He's never tried to touch my stomach before, because he knows how torn I am. Torn between terror and excitement, anxiety and love. But now, he squats down in the shower so he's eye level with my navel.

When his fingers brush against me lightly, gently, I feel a warm rush of emotion spilling over me, a feeling I can't name. He runs his palms over my stomach, rubs little circles around my bellybutton, the same way he massages the palms of my hands when I'm stressed. When I watch him that feeling swells inside of me again. The love and protectiveness and joy in his eyes is unmistakable. Already he loves this child.

"I love you," I find myself whispering. Before I can stop myself, I ask a stupid question that's been worrying me for a while. "Will you love it more than me?"

Peeta laughs, then, but I can't join in. I flush, and look at my feet, because it isn't funny. Peeta stops laughing when he realizes that I'm completely serious.

"No," he whispers back, taking my face in his hands and kissing me gently. "It's hard to imagine loving anyone more than I love you."

"You'll love us the same?" I ask, feeling relieved at his answer.

"Exactly the same," he tells me, stopping to kiss me slowly. "You and our daughter."

"We don't know if it's a girl or a boy," I murmur, secretly terrified at the idea of finding out. Knowing the sex of the child will make it more real.

"I know," mumbles Peeta. "That's just how I imagine it. A little girl exactly like you."

"I hope not," I whisper against his lips. "You don't want two of me. You can hardly handle one of me." When his eyes meet mine, I feel that stirring in my chest again. We look at each other for a long time, water falling over us, not paying attention to anything else in the world.

PB

My mother stares me down from across the table. Her cornflower blue eyes—just like Peeta's, just like Prim's—don't move from my face. I don't know what makes her think she'll be able to decipher anything from my facial expression. After years of being the sole provider and protector of my family, I'm well-disciplined in wiping any emotion from my face. So I look back at her blankly.

Haymitch, as always, is the one to break the tension. "Well, I can already tell I need a drink," remarks Haymitch, standing up unsteadily. "Paula, where do you keep the alcohol?"

My mother hastens to get up and busies herself finding some sort of alcohol for Haymitch to drink, and I whisper to Peeta, "Maybe we should take this outside. They're going to ask questions we can't answer in here." He nods absentmindedly, and stands up to go make some excuse to my mother while I pull Prim outside.

"What's going on?" she asks, her voice full of concern for me, as it always is these days. Before I can stop myself, I'm spilling my guts to her. Everything. The baby, the Quell, the plan, District 13. I know it's stupid, I know that she shouldn't know any of this, but I can't contain it. I don't want her to think that Peeta and me and our child are going to die in the arena, I don't want her to think that there's no hope. Because there is.

"And I'm so scared, Prim, I've never been so scared in my life," I finish. Prim is shaking. With fear or excitement, I can't tell. Maybe both. "I'm scared that one of us will die or that the plan won't work or that one of us will get left behind because I can't have this child by myself, I can't do it without him." She nods along to my words, apparently mulling everything over in her mind.

"I won't tell you it'll work out. We don't know that. But I can tell you that no matter what happens, you won't raise the baby by yourself. You have Mom. You have me, Katniss, you'll always have me," reassures Prim.

"I don't know that," I whisper to her. "What if they come and take you, what if they destroy Twelve like they did to Thirteen?"

"How much will Mom know?" Prim asks, scratching her forehead absentmindedly, her eyes miles away from me.

"I don't know," I answer honestly. "As much as Haymitch wants her to know." The back door of my mother's house opens, and I can see the silhouettes of the ones I love most. I look at Prim desperately. "Don't tell Haymitch you know," I say in a hushed voice.

"I won't," she promises, expertly wiping her face of any indication she knows about any of it. "But," she whispers, so quietly I almost don't hear her, "we'll be ready. I'll get ready to run, just in case."

I don't have time to feel relieved. When Peeta sits down next to me in the grass a few seconds later, I've done the same thing as Prim. Wiped my face of any emotion, any fear. I let him run his fingers through my hair, I let him reassure me silently that everything will be alright. I smile at him halfheartedly. He kisses me on the forehead, which brings a slightly more genuine smile to my face.

When everyone is settled into the grass, everyone is silent. It's an awkward silence, only fueled by the fact that my mother is looking at me speculatively again, trying to figure out what's going on. I take a deep breath, not wanting to tell her anything. But Peeta holds up his hand to stop me. He knows I'm terrified, and he knows I don't want to do this. So, like always, he's putting himself in the crosshairs instead of me. In this way, Peeta is very predictable.

"Mrs. Everdeen," he begins, then he looks at Haymitch and Prim. "Prim, Haymitch. Before I start, I would like you to know that Katniss and I love all three of you." He looks at my mom and Prim, saying, "You two have taken me in like I was your own family, despite any misgivings you had about our relationship. I know you thought that we may have moved too quickly, especially you, Mrs. Everdeen. But you never held that against me and never treated me with anything but love and respect. Prim," he looks at her so fondly I feel like my heart is going to burst. "You're like the little sister I never had, but always wanted. Haymitch, you've been a surrogate father to both of us and you've always done everything you could to keep us safe. That's why Katniss and I asked you here tonight; we feel like, because of everything you've given us, we should be giving you the same courtesy and love you've given us." Even though Peeta takes an enormous, shuddering breath, he isn't completely able to hide the happiness in his voice when he says, "Katniss is pregnant. We didn't want you to find out from a Capitol broadcast of our interviews. We wanted you to hear it from us."

I've been trying not to look at them, trying to focus on the blades of grass darkening in the twilight. But something makes me look at my mother. Her mouth has fallen open, and it would make me laugh under any other circumstances. Her eyes, though, have an odd look about them. Resigned? Happy? Heartbroken? I don't know. She opens her mouth, as if to speak, then closes it again. She does this a few more times.

Finally, Prim says warmly, "Congratulations, you two. I'm really happy for you." I manage a smile in her direction, but I've realized that Prim speaking helped my mother find her voice. I want to roll my eyes, but I don't.

"But the Games," she whispers, looking horrified. "The Games," she repeats. I'm embarrassed when I see that my mother has tears in her eyes. I know she's disappointed. After all, I just turned seventeen. It wasn't responsible of us, and she knows that. But she also looks heartbroken, like the air she's trying to breathe has turned solid. At this, I turn my eyes to Haymitch, open my mouth to speak, and close it again, just like my mother did. Haymitch looks at Peeta and me, hard look in his eyes.

"Well, that wasn't very smart," is the only thing he says, at first. A few seconds pass, though, before he adds, "I really hope it won't call me grandpa." Something half-laugh, half-choking sound escapes my mouth, and Peeta smiles a bit in his direction.

My mom interjects, "But the Games, Katniss. Only one person can win." Again that look comes to her face. Part disappointment and disapproval, part sadness, part happiness. It strikes me dumb, mute, and unable to think or speak.

"Haymitch," Peeta starts, but Haymitch holds up his hand to silence Peeta. He nods briefly in my direction, looks at Peeta surreptitiously.

"This changes things," he remarks. "It's still only need-to-know, but—" Haymitch stops, rising to his feet. "Let's you and I take a walk, Paula," suggests Haymitch. "There are some things you need to know. Prim, too." He takes another drink straight from the bottle of wine my mother gave him, and tells Peeta and me, "You should go tell Peeta's family, too. Don't let them find out on television."

I sullenly watch my mother and sister walk away with Haymitch, and watch their figures disappear down the street. I groan. There's nothing in the world I want to do less than walk all the way to the bakery, tell Peeta's family—by family I mean his mother, his father and brothers aren't so bad—about our child. We agree that they shouldn't know about the breakout plan, as Peeta tells me they are too sensitive and his mother has a big mouth.

Halfway there, I have to stop for a moment, because all of my energy has been sapped from my body. I complain the rest of the way there about how my body has been stolen from me. Peeta chuckles occasionally, and keeps his arm around me. The May night is warm, and a little humid. It would be a nice night if I didn't feel so tired, if I couldn't smell the sharp scent of onions before I even walk in the door of the bakery, if I didn't feel like my bladder was about to explode. If the Games weren't looming over us.

Peeta stops in front of the bakery door before pulling me into his arms. My lips rest against his neck, and it feels so good, so warm, that I know I won't pull away. We stand like this, holding each other, until Peeta finally lets go. He knows I don't want to be here, but I don't really think he wants to, either. So I force myself to take his hand and I push the door of the bakery open.

It's no secret that Peeta's mother hates me. His father and brothers are nice enough. His father comes around for dinner about once a week, and is kind and gentle. He told me once, a couple of months ago, that it was nice to finally have a daughter. His brothers make fun of him—and sometimes, me—mercilessly, mostly about me. It's lighthearted, I think, but I'm not used to that kind of teasing between siblings. His mother, however, is an entirely different story. She has never come to our house for any reason, and every time I come to the bakery, she treats me with open hostility, especially if I am by myself. When Peeta is with me, she makes malicious comments to Peeta about him marrying Seam, how it corrupted the family, how I'm trashy and filthy. I don't pay much attention to it—after all, I don't expect anything different—but it upsets him. Which is probably why he's so nervous to tell his mother that he was having a child with a trashy girl from the Seam.

When we walk in, it's empty in the storefront. Peeta calls for his father, and some rustling from the apartment above indicates that someone, at least, heard him. After a minute or two, his dad materializes in the store. He gives us both a smile and warm hugs, but Peeta is too nervous to return his smile. "Where's your wife?" I ask, trying to be polite, but sounding more brusque and impatient than anything.

"Upstairs with the boys," he replies.

"Could you bring her down here, please?" I ask, feeling guilty that I sounded so rude. Peeta's dad looks at me with a startled expression, probably because he knows there's no love lost between me and Mrs. Mellark.

"Dad, it's fine. Just bring her down here," Peeta says, his voice shaking a little. When they all manage to get downstairs, none of them sit down, none of them do anything. I have tunnel vision, though. I stare at his mother with something like hatred. _Say what you need to say and get out_, I tell myself.

Peeta opens his mouth, but I cut him off like he did to me when we were with my family. I don't move my eyes away from his mother.

"I'm pregnant," I tell her unwaveringly. "I don't want to hear anything you have to say. I'm only here because Peeta wanted to give you the benefit of the doubt." Not entirely true, but who cares? _Tell them nothing about the Quell. _ Her pale skin—same color as Peeta's—turns red and blotchy, and she starts walking towards me. I don't look away from her as she stalks towards me, but I say, "You might be able to bully your husband and sons, but I'm not afraid of you."

She doesn't speak until she's inches from my face, glaring down at me with hateful eyes and blotchy red skin. "At least you'll both be dead before it's born," she says, and she spits on me. I don't wipe it off of my face, though. I just stare at her like she's something disgusting that's stuck to my shoe.

"Get out of my face," I warn in a flat, emotionless voice, but Peeta is pushing her away from me before I can say or do anything else. Suddenly she's screaming terrible things at him, pushing him, ignoring her husband pulling at her arms. I don't pay attention to what she's screaming, only caring how it affects Peeta. He doesn't look weak and beaten, though; he stands up straight and is yelling back at her. Some small part of me is proud of him, but the other, larger part is so angry I could scream. It isn't until she starts raising her fist that I move. I'm pushing Peeta behind me and letting her damp, curled up fist fall on my face. It doesn't hurt much; after all the burns and cuts and stings and blows I've been handed in my life and in the Games, this is nothing. She backs up a few steps. I look at her without saying a word. I don't know how long I stand there, staring at her flatly, but eventually, I feel Peeta tug on my shirt. Without breaking eye contact, I wipe the rest of her saliva off of my face, and turn to leave without another word.

We're about halfway home, walking hand in hand, not speaking, when I hear his father calling our names. We both turn around and see his father jogging towards us, obviously out of breath. I walk the short distance to him, and when I'm within earshot, he puffs, "Listen, Katniss, I'm sorry."

"Not your fault," I say back. The pressure of his hand on my shoulder tells me that Peeta's caught up with me.

"No, I—" he starts. "Yeah, the way she acts is awful. But I don't mean that. I just—" I've always known the baker isn't great with words, so I wait only a little impatiently for him to finish his thought. I want to go home and sleep. He shifts his eyes to Peeta. "Congratulations, son. You would have made a wonderful father."

The phrasing that he uses clearly implies that he believes Peeta won't survive the Games, and it takes everything in me to stay rooted to the spot and not run away. Because it's terrible to have to listen to this and not be able to tell him that his son could very well make it out of the arena. Peeta doesn't say much. I know he wants to break down and tell his father everything, but he doesn't. He has a stronger will than I do. He just hugs his father tightly, and tells him, "I love you, Dad." His father doesn't say anything back, just pats his son's cheek with clumsy hands and watery eyes.

Peeta turns to go home, but I stay rooted to the spot for a moment longer. Peeta's dad hasn't turned to go yet, so we're stuck to the spot just looking at each other. I hear Peeta's unsteady feet pause twenty yards or so away from me, and I know this is my only chance, the absolute only shot I have of saving his father before things go terribly, terribly wrong. I lean in to give him a hug—which makes me uncomfortable—and whisper in his ear so quickly the words run together, "Listen to me. There'll be a time in the Games when everything seems like it's going to go wrong. You'll know when. Do you hear me? You'll know when. As soon as you do, you need to take your sons and your wife and you need to get out of District 12."

Peeta's footsteps are approaching slowly, so I let go of his father and force a smile. "Thanks for being so kind to me," I say, as if we were sharing a heartfelt moment. I lower my voice. "Find my mother, she'll know what to do."

Peeta catches up again and I wheel around, smile at him, and take his hand so we can go home.


	19. Chapter 19

Reaping Day comes in the middle of June, nearly three weeks later, and I don't move to get out of bed when Peeta wakes me. After months of training to strengthen our bodies and hone our skills, we're physically prepared for whatever the Games will bring. None of us—not me, not Peeta, not Haymitch—are ready to face the arena again. Haymitch will still volunteer if Peeta's name is called, but even if we cling onto the hope and idea that we will be rescued three days into the Games, we will still go into the place of nightmares. We will certainly have to kill people again. That fear—still not gone in the twenty-five years since Haymitch left his own arena, definitely not gone in the year that has elapsed since Peeta and I won the Games—will seep back into our skin and settle deep in our bones.

It isn't until we have a mere three hours until we have to be in the Square that I climb reluctantly out of bed. Peeta has laid a dress out for me, but he is nowhere to be seen. Probably in the bakery saying goodbye to his family. When I get out of the shower, I stare down at the dress that hangs over the back of the armchair. Green. The same dress I wore to our wedding in the Meadow. I stare at it for a few moments, trying to summon any emotion, any feeling. The only things that registers is dread. And fear. I pull the dress over my body, noting all too well that is doesn't fit me the same as it used to. Sauntering into the bathroom, I step onto the body dryer. My hair is straight and glossy in seconds. I look in the mirror. I know now why Peeta chose this dress—apart from the obvious meaning it has for only us. It is loose enough to hang over my expanding stomach, obscuring it almost completely. I only look like I've put on weight. I sigh, thinking of the heart attack Effie will have if she sees me—a victor who should know how to present herself—bare faced. So I cover my skin in a thin film of the stuff Cinna sent me for my wedding. Pull the black wand through my eyelashes. Put the pink blush on my cheeks. Slip my feet into those brown sandals that cord around my calves. Roll my eyes at the stupidity of it all.

I don't bother leaving a note for Peeta when I set off for my mother's house. He'll know where to find me. When I walk in the door, they are both fully dressed, sitting on the sofa, like they've been waiting for me. My mother and sister pull me into their arms, hugging me and stroking my hair until I feel like my urge to cry has gone away. This might be the last time I see them. The thought is so repellent, I shove it out of my mind.

I turn to my mother, and say in a low, rough voice, "Listen, Mom. This might be the last chance I have to tell you this. I held it against you when you us left after Dad died. I know you were sick, and I know you couldn't help it. I'm sorry," I say, my voice harsh because I'm fighting the urge to cry. "I forgive you, and I love you." My mom doesn't hold her tears back like I do; she lets them out in loud, racking sobs. "Listen to me, Mom. I will come out of that arena." She nods, and tries to stifle her tears. She isn't altogether that successful. I take a deep breath and steel myself, because turning to Prim will be ten time harder.

"Primrose," I say evenly, determined not to show an ounce of emotion. "No matter what happens, I will always love you and I will always protect you. I might be having a child of my own, but you're still my baby. I wish I could've given you a better life and saved you from all of this," I say. "Both of you," I add, turning to my mother. Prim doesn't say anything, just looks at me with eyes so full of tears I can see myself in their reflection.

"I need some fresh air," quivers Prim. "It's stuffy in here." I know what she's trying to do and say, so I follow her into the backyard. My mother does, too. When we're out in the hot June sun, Prim puts her hand over my eyes so she can see me, and asks, "When will it happen?"

"I'm not sure," I whisper. "Haymitch thinks day three or four. I don't know very much about it, because Haymitch says if I know everything it'll be dangerous. I don't know how it's going to happen or exactly when it's going to happen. Probably when someone starts planning something big," I mutter. "So if anyone starts planning a trap, or something else, be ready to leave."

"To the woods," Mom confirms, nodding her head. "Bring food and medicine."

"And get Gale's family," I add. "Peeta's, too, if you can manage it. His mother probably won't want to go, but try to get his father. I don't even know if they're going to do anything, Mom. I just want you to be ready," I explain. "And safe."

My mother moves to hug me, and whispers, "I love you, Katniss."

I cough to try to get rid of the lump in my throat. "Me, too." I look at Prim. "And you, little duck." She gives me a tremulous, watery smile in response. We have a couple of hours to kill before we have to be in the Square, so when Peeta arrives, we all have lunch at my mother's house. Peeta's father comes along, and Peeta manages to drag Haymitch out of hibernation and into my mother's dining room.

The conversation at the table turns to the pregnancy, eventually. First, Peeta's asks his father if my stomach is noticeable under the loose dress. When his father suggests that it only looks like I gained a few pounds, I pretend to act offended. This makes everyone laugh, even though it's with a heavy heart that I force out a chuckle.

"But honestly," Prim begins. "Do you even know how pregnant you are?"

"No," I reply, my cheeks flushing dark red. "My per—I was never regular, so it's hard to tell." This launches a discussion between my mother and Peeta's father, who have the most experience. I watch their easy banter and look at Peeta, who's been looking at me this whole time. With their easy give and take, it's easy to forget that Peeta's dad wanted to marry my mom once. I stare at Peeta, whose blue eyes never leave mine. I know he's thinking about the same thing I am. I walk over to him to drop a kiss on his head, so grateful that he's alive, that he's here, that he's mine.

Eventually, our parents can't come to a consensus, so my mother tells me to stand up while she measures the peak of my small stomach. While I can tell that most of the chatter and banter is a little forced for my sake, I let my mother wrap a measure around my stomach. I let her run into the study where she keeps her diaries from her own pregnancies. "You kept track of your pregnancies?" I ask.

"Of course," replies my mother, as if this were the most obvious thing in the world. "We don't have the technology in district 12 to see how far along the pregnancy is, so we measured."

"Oh," is all I say, as she scribbles my measurements next to her own measurements from when she was carrying me. "Why aren't you comparing it to when you carried Prim?"

"Oftentimes, we measure larger for the second child. The muscles in your abdomen are more pliable," she explains distractedly, biting down on her lower lip as she studies the page. "You're about the same size I was when I was around sixteen weeks," she tells me. "See?"

She pushes the diary towards me and I lean over it. My mother's beautiful handwriting adorns the old, worn page. At the top left, I see 'Baby' scrawled out in her perfect hand. Underneath, it reads 'Katniss,' as if she added it after I was born. Something similar is the column next to it, only with 'Primrose,' instead of my own name. On the far right of the page, she has scrawled 'Baby Mellark.' The date and measurement are carefully written underneath. "I figure after the baby is born, we can add her name, too. You can give it to her, someday," my mom tells me, her voice very quiet. I look at my mother's beautiful, lined face and feel something I haven't felt for a long time. I feel like a child again, looking up at my mother and wondering how I could love someone this much, feeling completely safe. I don't say it to her, but instead hug her as tightly as I would when I was a toddler, and my mother was my entire world.

"Thank you," I whisper. After I pull away, I clear my throat and try to lighten the moment. "Peeta thinks it's a girl, too," I say awkwardly.

"I hope so," his dad chimes in. I look around the room, almost forgetting about everyone else. Haymitch is, uncharacteristically, smiling. Peeta looks at me in the way he always does: like no one else exists.

"I guess I don't really care," I mumble. "As long as it's healthy." Prim nods her head in agreement. I walk over to her and tousle her hair before leaning into Haymitch and whispering, "It's gonna call you grandpa. Sorry." I lean away and sit on Peeta's lap, shredding a roll into little pieces while I wait for the emotional tension of the moment to dissipate, because it makes me a little uncomfortable.

"Grandpa," I eventually hear Haymitch chuckle. He smiles into his glass and says, "That sounds terrible." I throw the rest of the roll at him, effectively ending the sentimentality of the last few minutes.

We sit in the dining room for another hour, trying to be happy and trying to laugh. The closer the clock get to two o clock, though, the more sullen we all become. At one-thirty, my mother stands up and says, "Well, I guess it's time to go."

"I didn't say goodbye to Gale," I suddenly remember. "Or his family." I want to slap myself, because we just got comfortable with each other again. We just got back to normal, hunting every Sunday and exchanging casual conversation like we used to. "I'm an idiot."

"Katniss, he'll be at the Reaping," Peeta murmurs, taking my hand. "Say goodbye then."

But I don't get the chance. As soon as we get there, we're shuffled into tiny, roped-off sections in the square. _What a joke,_ I think to myself. _Even with only three of us, they're treating us like cattle._ I turn my head around a few times while Mayor Undersee reads the Treaty of the Treason, looking for Gale. Eventually, I find his eyes and I make a desperate face at him. He mouths something, and I think he's saying, 'It'll be okay,' but Effie steps up to the stage too soon for me to figure it out.

The reaping takes only a minute. Effie, shining in a wig of metallic gold,lacks her usual verve. She has to claw around the girls' reaping ball for quite a while to snag the one piece of paper that everyone already knows has the name 'Katniss Everdeen-Mellark' on it. Then she catches Haymitch's name. He barely has time to shoot me an unhappy look before Peeta has volunteered to take his place.

It was stupid to hope that Peeta's name would be called. I should've known that it would be Haymitch, I should've known that the words, 'I volunteer' would leave Peeta's mouth. But still, I did. I clung onto that stupid hope that it would Haymitch and me in the arena, with Peeta safe in the Capitol. And now I'll be going into the arena—again—with the person I love most in the world. Only a single, lonely tear falls out of my eye, lingering and drying on my cheek, before Effie calls out, in a flat, unenthusiastic tone, "Let's have a round of applause for District Twelve's tributes in the 75th Annual Hunger Games, Peeta Mellark and Katniss Everdeen-Mellark!"

Unsurprisingly, not one person claps. The Square is so silent you could hear a pin drop. Then, as they did last year, they all press the three middle fingers of their left hand against their lips, and hold them high in the air. It would be enough to move me to tears, if I thought I could cry. But I can't.

I turn to Peeta, who's turning towards me at the same time, and all we can do is look at each other in that desperate, hopeless way. Breakout or not, we'll be in the arena together again. Breakout or not, he could be dead in a week.


	20. Chapter 20

**Hey guys, just as a warning, I will be using quite a bit of Suzanne Collins' material in the next few chapters. I'll be writing a lot of the dialogue and maybe change a couple of things in the Quell, but I also want it to be fairly close to canon. We all know that this material, the characters and storyline, belong to her. As always, read and review! Love you all x**

When we're ushered to the train without goodbyes, I can hardly say that I'm surprised. The only person I didn't get to say goodbye to is Gale. But he'll live. I don't have the energy to think about anyone other than Peeta or myself. So while Peeta sits down next to Haymitch in the dining car, I go straight to our familiar compartment and shut the door. Cocoon myself in the thick, woolen blanket. That's when I start to shake.

Visions from my first Games start flashing in front of me. I can't fight them. The boy's blood spraying on my face, Clove's knife in his back. The sound of a knife flying towards me. Fireballs chasing me and hunting me down, escaping just to be chased and hunted by other children. Glimmer's body, distorted, swollen, and hideous. The terrifying, surreal, haunting tracker jacker visions.

Finding Rue.

Fires and smiles and plans and one massive explosion.

Losing Rue. Her tiny body curled around the spear in her chest. Her blood on my hands, her body covered in flowers. She's dead. I failed her. I failed her. I couldn't save her.

I'm so lost in the torture of my own Games that I don't realize that I'm rocking back and forth, hyperventilating and choking on my own breath, trying not to sob. So I go on.

Finding Peeta. Feeling how hot his body was, draining his wound of pus. Worrying, always worrying, about whether he would make it to the next sunrise. Trying to bury everything I started to feel, because it's an act, it has to be an act, because I can't love someone, I am not capable of loving someone. Feeling foolishly happy when he tells me that his name being drawn was a piece of luck.

Telling myself again and again and again that it isn't real, he's acting, I'm acting, it can't be real, it isn't real.

I stuff part of the blanket in my mouth to stifle my screams. Peeta dying in front of me. Peeta begging me not to go, not to get his medicine because he swears he can make it to the end. The boom of a cannon, running frantically through the woods to find him, terrified I would stumble upon his dead body. Peeta. His leg mauled by the mutts. Peeta. Bleeding out while Cato has him in a choke hold. Peeta. Bleeding to death while the echoes of Cato's scream rebound around us, trapped in a nightmare. Peeta. His heart stopping. Screaming his name, but the doctors won't let me see him—

"Katniss?" I hear Peeta call, but he's miles away from me, bleeding out on a hovercraft. Closer to Rue than to me. A door slides open somewhere, but I don't care where. I am trapped in nightmares. "Katniss? Katniss!" he says. His voice is closer now. Rocking back and forth. Wishing I could die.

"Katniss!" I hear him yell, and when fingers try to pry my tightly clench fists open, I don't mean to strike out. I just do. Because I'm trapped in the arena, and the fear will follow me everywhere. "Katniss, it's me! It's me. Open your eyes, sweetheart, it's me," he murmurs.

I open my eyes tentatively, uncertainly. The room is familiar. The carpet is thick and lush, and the walls are beige. A boy with blond hair and bright blue eyes is staring at me, blood trickling from his mouth.

"Peeta," I breathe. "You're alive." He lifts me into his lap, and I reach up hesitantly to blot the blood running down his face with the sleeve of my dress.

"I'm alive," chuckles Peeta. I know he isn't laughing at me, but I'm still defensive. I shift my body away from his.

"I had a flashback," I snap.

"I know, Katniss," he murmurs gently. He pushes the hair off of my forehead with soft hands. "I wasn't laughing at you." I slump back into his arms, too tired to be angry and defensive. I drift off, letting the rocking of his strong, steady arms lull me into something like sleep.

PB

"Time to get up," Peeta tells me. "You need to eat."

"No," I grumble.

"Katniss," he protests, shaking me a little. "You have to. It isn't just you anymore." His unwelcome reminder of the baby makes me squeeze my eyes closed even tighter. He doesn't give up though, alternating between saying my name and shaking my arm. Finally, just to make him stop, I open my eyes. I look at him emotionlessly. He doesn't seem to mind.

"It's good to see your eyes again," he says.

"You said that in our first Games," I observe. "Is that real?"  
"Yeah, it's real," laughs Peeta. "After I found you lying in a very scary pool of blood." We sit in silence for a moment, our minds both on the Games. I'm not sure which part he's thinking about, but my mind has drifted away to Rue. Looking like a sweet baby animal, curled around the spear in her stomach.

"I don't want to go in again," I say flatly. "I don't want to kill anyone else." _But I have to,_ I tell myself. I have to, if it means keeping Peeta alive long enough for us to get out.

Peeta exhales, his breath loud and shaky. "Neither do I. I don't want to see anyone else die." He's so strong and dependable that I often forget that he's killed people, too. Two that I know of. That girl who lit the fire near my tree, while he was still with the Careers. And Foxface. Between us, we've killed six people.

"It's hard for me to believe, sometimes," begins Peeta, "that I'm still the same person who threw you bread when you were starving. Or that I'm the same boy who participated in wrestling tournaments and iced the cakes at the bakery."

"You know, a year ago, I was hunting in the woods. I even caught some fish for my mother to cook in a stew after the reaping," I chuckle dryly. "I never imagined that instead of eating that stew with my family, I'd be on a train to the Capitol."

"Maybe we aren't the same people," he muses. "I don't think I'll ever be able to go back to the way I was."

"Maybe we aren't supposed to," I speculate.

"Maybe," he breathes. My eyes catch his, and the pain in them is so clear and so poignant that it hurts me, too. We're only seventeen years old, and we'll never again be unafraid and carefree, never again be totally and completely happy and safe. We'll always have targets on our backs, we'll always be haunted by the faces of the people we killed.

Instead of saying any of that—I don't need to, he already knows—I ask, "Will you find me something to wear? Your blood is all over my dress." Peeta stands up, without a word, and crosses over to the closet attached to our compartment. He digs around for a while until he finds an orange, stretchy sweater that Cinna designed. It covers the bulge of my stomach well enough. I slip on the soft, black leggings that he tosses me and let him pull me up from the bed.

"Don't leave me in that arena," I breathe against his lips. "Not for a second."

"I won't," he whispers back. "I don't want to lose you in case—"

"I know," I tell him. In case we get separated and only one of us gets rescued.

Dinner is uneventful. None of us are in much of a mood for talking, so Effie's faltering conversation topics fall stilted and unheard. She suggests that Peeta and Haymitch get gold tokens to match my Mockingjay pin and her gold wig. I agree, trying to cheer her up.

"I think that's a great idea, Effie," Peeta agrees, reaching his hand out to her. Her eyes fill up, and she takes a deep breath before launching into an explanation of how everything about these Games will be different.

Our opponents will all be experienced killers. This I already know. In the arena, we'll be going up against Catos and Cloves, people who have all murdered. No one wins the Games without killing someone. In the past, some tributes have hidden until the end, but eventually, the Gamemakers draw them out. If they don't murder someone, the audience is unhappy.

Haymitch joins in and tells us that we need allies. I know there's a larger plan in play, but the idea is so repellent I thrust it from my mind. Befriending people just to watch them die? Possibly even have to kill them myself?

I did it once with Rue, and I don't want to do it again.

I eat while he talks, barely paying attention. I've been in the Games before; I don't need him to explain how it works. Eventually all of this talk of allies start to annoy me, so I snap, "What is the point of having allies in the Games, Haymitch?" All he does is shoot me a look before he glares down at his custard.

"Shall we watch the recap of the Reapings?" says Effie, dabbing at the corners of her mouth with a white linen napkin.

Peeta goes off to retrieve his notebook on the remaining living victors, and we gather in the compartment with the television to see who or competitors—_and our allies, _I think grudgingly—will be in the arena. We are all in place as the anthem begins to play and the annual recap of the Reaping ceremonies in the twelve districts begins.

In the history of the Games there have been seventy-five victors. Fifty-nine are still alive. I recognize many of their faces, either from seeing them as tributes or mentors at previous Games or from our recent viewing of the victors' tapes. Some are so old or wasted by illness, drugs, or drink that I can't place them. As one would expect the pools of Career tributes from Districts 1, 2, and 4 are the largest. But every district has managed to scrape up at least one female and one male victor.

The Reapings go by quickly. Peeta studiously puts stars by the names of the chosen tribute sin his notebook. Haymitch watches, his face devoid of emotion, as friends of his step up to take the stage. Effie makes hushed, distressed comments like, "Oh, not Cecelia" or "Well, Chaff never could stay out of a fight," and sighs frequently.

For my part I try to make some mental record of the other tributes, but like last year, only a few really stick in my head. There's the classically beautiful brother and sister from District 1 who were victors in consecutive years when I was little. Brutus, a volunteer from District 2, who must be at least forty and apparently can't wait to get back in the arena. Finnick, the handsome bronze-haired guy from District 4 who was crowned ten years ago at the age of fourteen. A hysterical young woman with flowing brown hair is also called from 4, but she's quickly replaced by a volunteer, and eighty-year-old woman who needs a cane to walk to the stage.

"Wait," I interrupt, signaling for Haymitch to pause the recap. "Was that Annie Cresta?"

"I think so," Peeta answers. "Why?"

"She went insane when her district partner when beheaded in front of her," Haymitch offers. "I think they were a couple, or something."

"That's stupid," I say automatically. "Why would you both volunteer if you were together? She had to know he'd die anyway." Haymitch rolls his eyes at me as I continue, "Didn't she kill seven or eight tributes? She was vicious."

"Sweetheart, she was trained. She was a Career. None of us will ever understand what motivates those people to volunteer," Haymitch sneers. After a while, Haymitch says in a softer voice, "She actually killed one of my tributes, a twelve year old boy. Still, after what happened to her, it's hard to hate her. She's a sweet girl."

"Ugh," I scoff. "I knew she went 'insane'" the sarcasm practically drips from my voice, "and I knew about her district partner, but still. The whole insanity act is a little hard to swallow."

"Just like your love story is probably hard for people to swallow," Haymitch retorts. I wonder why he's getting so defensive. He relaxes after a minute, but not before saying, "There are a lot of things that happen in the Games that they don't broadcast, Katniss. Don't be so quick to judge." I don't ruminate on this for too long, because odds are, I'll never meet Annie Cresta.

After he plays the Reapings again, it drags on until District 7, where Johanna Mason, the only living victor from 7, who won a few years back by pretending she was a weakling. The woman from 8 who Effie calls Cecelia, who looks about thirty has to detach herself from the three kids who run up to cling to her. Chaff, a man from 11 who I know to be one of Haymitch's particular friends, is also in.

I'm called. Then Haymitch. And Peeta volunteers. One of the announcers actually gets teary because it seems the odds will never be in our favor, we star-crossed lovers of District 12. Then she pulls herself together to say she bets that "these will be the best Games ever!"

When the Reapings are over, Haymitch leaves the compartment without a word. I think about the plan. Even if it works, some of Haymitch's closest friends will die. No wonder he isn't hopeful, no wonder he isn't happy. I wonder if Chaff is in on it. Come to think of it, I wonder how many people are in on it. I go over the districts in my head, the ones that were the angriest on our Tour. Three, certainly. Four. Seven. Eight. Eleven.

It wouldn't be surprising to find out that the tributes from 3 are part of the rebellion, nor would it be surprising if 7, 8, and 11 were. I find it a little difficult to imagine Finnick Odair, a beautiful plaything of the Capitol's, as a part of a rebel network. Even if I was only seven during his Games, I remember them. It would be hard not to; I'm fairly certain Finnick eliminated an even half of the playing field. I shudder.

I decide I'm not going to trust Finnick Odair. The woman from Four, maybe. Mags. No doubt she trained for her Games, which were close to sixty-five years ago. But she volunteered for Annie Cresta. Just like I volunteered for Prim.

I sit there, lost in thought about which tributes are going to be breaking out of the arena with us, until Peeta says, "Why don't you get some sleep?" I don't want to tell him—definitely not after my mental breakdown this afternoon—that I can't handle the nightmares that will undoubtedly come. So I avoid the subject and ask, "What are you going to do?"

"Just review my notes awhile. Get a clear picture of what we're up against. But I'll go over it with you in the morning. Go to bed, Katniss," he says.

So I go to bed. As I knew they would, the nightmares come. A flashback of my own Games. Clove—she didn't look like Clove, but I instinctively knew it was her—is holding me down, cutting into my face with a knife. I can't feel the pain, but I know that she's just holding me down and cutting me to keep from running to Peeta. I finally manage to get away, but I run into Rue—at least, I think it's Rue, she looks different—as soon as I make it to the tree line.

"Rue," I say, with a puzzled smile. "I thought you were dead."

"Nope," her lips popping on the 'p.' "No one's dead." She doesn't say anything else, at first, but she follows me through the forest, chatting to me about District 11 and her little siblings. It's nice, at first, because I miss Rue and I would give almost anything to see her alive again. For a while, I almost feel happy. But then I get the nagging feeling that she's just talking to me to keep me from finding Peeta.

"Rue," I say, cutting into her story about a mockingjay who she was particular friends with. "Why won't you let me find him? You know how much he means to me."

"Because," she says with that childish smile—not mocking, or mean, but gentle and pure—that reminds me so much of Prim. "You're not supposed to find him." Her answer makes no sense to me, but she soon disappears. But her place is taken by a variety of people, tributes I never even spoke to. The boy with the limp from 3. Foxface, her clever face surrounded by a halo of fuzzy black hair. I shrug it off, because even if she was supposed to have red hair, at least she doesn't talk to me too much. Marvel still has the arrow I shot him with stuck in his neck. None of them answer me when I ask where Peeta is. Cato wears his flesh colored armor and provokes me into a fight.

"Why won't you let me find him?" I keep asking him, begging him to tell me where he is. I smash Cato's head into a rock over and over again, trying to make him tell me. Finally, with blood and gray matter oozing from his ears, his mouth, his eyes, his nostrils, he sits up.

"Why aren't you dead?" I sob, "Why aren't you dead?"

"Because, Katniss," he laughs madly, parts of his brain dripping out of his nose. "None of us are dead!"

"Tell me where he is!" I scream, picking up a mace that materialized next to me and swinging it down at his face. "Tell me where he is or I'll kill you!"

But he just sneers at me, his face broken and bloody and as unrecognizable as a hunk of raw meat, and laughs, "You can't kill me. You can't kill any of us." I scream at the top of my lungs, because Peeta is out there and he's dying. He needs me, but I can't remember why I left in the first place. I scream and scream because I'm so stupid for leaving him behind, not when he's dying, not when—

The girl from District 1, Glimmer, lifts me off of Cato, her body as gruesome and distorted from the tracker jackers as it was when she died, and whispers, "There he is, Katniss," in my ear. She kisses me gently on the throat before I look in the direction she's pointing and see the back of his blond head, disappearing through some trees. I start to run after him, but my legs are made of lead and he's moving faster than me.

"Peeta!" I scream. "Peeta!" I try to run faster, but I soon lose him in the woods. I keep screaming his name, but the arena starts to shake and I can hear a dam somewhere breaking open and letting loose all of the water in the world, and I have to find him, because he can't swim—

"Katniss," Claudius Templesmith announces while the arena is flooding. I see a girl with caramel colored skin and dark brown hair and sea green eyes—Annie Cresta, I realize—and she laughs madly while paddling around amidst the tree tops.

"What?!" I scream at the top of my lungs. "What do you want from me?"

"I'm so pleased to announce that you and Ms. Cresta are this year's Victors," he booms, cackling madly. "As a reward for killing every single tribute, you and Annie will live in this arena forever."

"I thought none of them were dead," I shout at him.

"No one, everyone, what's the difference?" he laughs, mocking me. "You and Annie will still be here forever."

"I don't want Annie Cresta!" I scream. "I want Peeta! He's not dead, his cannon didn't go off."

"Katniss," Annie whispers, paddling over to me. "It's okay. We'll be together now."

"No, it isn't!" I shout at her, swimming over to her and trying to drown her.

"It is," she whispers again, materializing behind me. "I lost someone I love to the Games, too. It's okay."

"Tell me where Peeta is," I sob, grabbing her shoulders and shaking her. She holds up a man's severed head, his mouth frozen in a scream. I shrink back in horror. His lifeless blue eyes roll around in his head.

"I'll always have him with me now," she croons, petting the boy's face affectionately. "And you'll always have Peeta."

An overwhelming sense of dread starts to come over me, because I know what will be in my hand if I lift it above the water. "No," I beg her. "No."

"It's okay, Katniss," she croons to me again, setting down the boy's head. It floats on top of the water. She reaches underneath the water, pulling something from my hands. "I'll show you where Peeta is."

"No," I sob, half screaming and half crying.

When she pulls her hands from below the water, Peeta's head is resting in them. I go crazy, then, screaming at the top of my lungs. I know, I just know, that if I kill her, if I drown her right now, Peeta's head will be attached to his body again and he'll come back. But every time I dunk her head underwater, she pops back up again, laughing my name.

"And you thought my insanity was hard to swallow," she sneers, maliciousness coloring her voice.

"No, I'm sorry, I'm sorry," I cry.

"Katniss," she giggles. I shove her head underwater.

"No," I sob.

"Katniss." She comes back up again, dangling Peeta's head in front of me by the hair. I try to close my eyes, but I can't. They're stuck. I touch my eyes and find that Cato's brain matter is gluing them open. I try to drown her again. "You did this. It's okay."

"Why won't you just die already?"

"Katniss."

"Just die!" I scream, so loudly it shakes the entire arena and I can't stay afloat with all of this shaking, I sink underwater and see Annie again, swimming along with Peeta and the boy's heads under her arms. She smiles at me happily, kissing the lips on the dead boy's head.

"Katniss!"

I come to, screaming louder than I ever have before and thrashing so hard the bed shakes.

"KATNISS!" I hear Peeta yell, and even though I realize it's only dark because the lights are off in my train compartment, I can't stop screaming.

"Oh my God," I moan, over and over again, once I can finally stop yelling. "No, no, no, no, no, no, no-:"

"Katniss," Peeta murmurs, trying to pull me into his arms. I struggle against him, because I have never been this terrified in my entire life and I'm not sure I can be comforted at all. Peeta's stronger than me, though, so eventually I give up. It takes me hours to calm down, to slow my breathing, to make me stop grabbing my hair and talking to myself.

"They, they—the t-tributes wouldn't let me find you," I stutter, when I've calmed down just enough to tell him what happened. "A girl who was Clove but didn't look like Clove cut me up just so I couldn't chase after you. R-rue, she wouldn't let me—she wouldn't let me find you," I choke out. "I saw all-all of them, Peeta. I hit Cato against a rock and pounded his face in but he wouldn't die and he wouldn't let me find you. Then it-it flooded and I thought you were still alive, but A-Annie C-Cresta, she help up a boy's head and then she had your head in her hands and you were still screaming for me, but you were dead, and she had your head," I finish, devolving into dry, racking sobs.

Peeta just holds me until the terror subsides again, and I know that he's thinking the same thing as I am: how are we supposed to raise a child with all of ours scars?


	21. Chapter 21

** Just a quick reminder: this content belongs to Suzanne Collins, not me!**

Having been through prep with Flavius, Venia, and Octavia numerous times, it should just be an old routine to survive. But I haven't anticipated the emotional ordeal that awaits me. At least twice throughout the prep, each of them bursts into tears. Octavia keeps up a running whimper the entire time. It's somewhat of a revelation to me that they've become attached to me, and that my returning to the arena has upset them. The idea of being strong for someone else having never entered their heads, I find myself in the position of having to console them. Since I'm the person going into the arena, this is somewhat annoying.

But it starts an interesting train of thought. It seems the people in the Capitol aren't happy about the victors having to fight again, even though I think that it'll all be forgotten once the gong sounds. It's fascinating, though, that those living in the Capitol feel anything at all for us. They definitely don't have an issue watching children murdered every year; maybe they know too much about us to forget we're human beings.

By the time Cinna shows up, I'm irritable and exhausted. I know I can't bear another look of regret, so as soon as he walks in, I snap, "I swear if you cry, I'll kill you here and now."

Cinna just smiles. "Had a damp morning?"

"You could wring me out," I reply.

Cinna puts his arm around my shoulderand leads me to have lunch. "Don't worry. I always channel my emotions into my work. That way I don't hurt anyone but myself.

"I can't go through that again," I warn him.

"I know. I'll talk to them," says Cinna.

Lunch makes me feel a bit better. After we eat so much my stomach feels like it'll burst, we dip chunks of fruit in a pot of melted chocolate and Cinna has to order a second pot because I start just eating the stuff with a spoon.

"Headlamps or fire?" I ask Cinna, scraping the second pot clean.

"Something along that line," he says enigmatically.

When it's time to get into costume, though, my slightly improved mood completely vanishes. I take off my robe to get into whatever outfit Cinna's made for me, and I realize that the slight bulge in my stomach is completely unmistakable. He tries not to look for long—after all, he's Cinna, if I'm not ready to tell him, he doesn't ask—but I feel like someone has painted giant words on my forehead. Idiot who got pregnant.

Cinna doesn't say anything, though. He just puts my hair up in the braided style my mother introduced me to, then proceeds with my makeup. Last year he used little so that the audience would recognize me when I landed in the arena. But now my face is almost obscured by the dramatic highlights and dark shadows. High arching eyebrows, sharp cheekbones, smoldering eyes, deep purple lips. When it's time for my costume, though, he stops for a moment.

"Cinna," I say in a small voice. "I don't want anyone to notice."

"Shh," he murmurs reassuringly. "They won't."

As always, I trust him implicitly. The costume is just a fitted black jumpsuit—stretchy enough in the middle to accommodate my stomach—that covers me from the neck down. He places a half crown like the one I received as victor on my head, but it's made of a heavy black metal, not gold. Then he adjusts the light in the room to mimic twilight and presses a button just inside the fabric on my wrist. I look down, enamored, as my costume begins to glow with a soft golden light but gradually transforms into the orange red of burning coal. I look as if I am a glowing ember straight from our fireplace. The colors rise and fall, shift and blend, in exactly the ways the coal do.

Without preamble, Cinna explains, "Portia and I spent a lot of hours watching fires."

When I look at myself, I see someone who isn't a girl, isn't a woman, but some being that would makes its home in a volcano. The black crown, red-hot now, casts strange shadows on my dramatically made up face. Katniss, no longer the girl on fire, is as deadly as fire itself.

"I think," I say, "this is just what I needed to face the others."

"Yes, I think your days of pink lipstick and ribbons are behind you," says Cinna. He turns off my power pack, extinguishing the light. "When you're on the chariot, no waving or smiling. I want you to look straight ahead, as if the entire audience is beneath your notice."

"Finally something I"ll be good at," I sigh.

PB

Peeta is nowhere to be seen. The ground floor of the Remake Center, unlike last year, is full of tributes mingling, laughing, talking with one another. Since I'm not a part of this—and probably never will be—I stroke the neck of one of our coal-black horses, and whisper, "How'd we get here, huh?"

I'm desperate not to be noticed, for a number of reasons. I'm not comfortable with people, especially new people. I don't want to talk to these people, I don't want to stumble my way through an awkward conversation when we'll just be enemies again in a few days. I don't want to look into these people's faces and wonder if they're my ally, or if they're just another obstacle I'll have to overcome to get Peeta and me safely out. I don't want to think about which of these people I'll be murdering in a few days' time.

I certainly don't want to be part of the freak show. Peeta and I are on the outside, and on the outside is where I prefer to be. I don't have to trust anyone if I'm on the outside. Somewhere inside of me, I know that I will have to try and trust some of these people, because they'll be helping us get out. But I don't want to. Trust almost always leads to disappointment and pain. So I stand near District 12's horses, trying not to be noticed.

It doesn't work.

The crunching hits my ear before I even know he's beside me, and when I turn my head, Finnick Odair's famous sea green eyes are only inches from mine. He pops a sugar cube in his mouth and leans against my horse, long, deft fingers stroking its mane.

"Hello, Katniss," he says, as if we've known each other for years.

"Hello, Finnick," I say, just as casually. I'm so uncomfortable with his closeness, and I'm so uncomfortable with this situation, especially considering the amount of bare skin exposed. I want to shudder, but I don't.

"Want a sugar cube?" he asks, offering his hand, which is piled high with the small white cubes. "They're supposed to be for the horses, but who cares? They've got years to live, whereas, you and I…well, if we see something sweet, we better grab it."

Finnick Odair is something of a living legend in Panem. He won the 65th Games when he was only fourteen, making him the youngest person to win in Games history. The odds were already in his favor, because he's from Four, a Career district. No trainer, though, could've given him his extraordinary beauty. Finnick is tall and athletic, with golden skin and bronze colored hair and those incredible sea green eyes. During his Games, other tributes struggled to get a handful of grain or matches from sponsors. Finnick never wanted for anything, not food or medicine, or even weapons. Because of his age, it took his competitors about a week to realize that he was the person to kill, but by then, it was too late. Finnick was already a good fighter with spears and knives—he was trained, after all—but he received a silver parachute with a trident, the most expensive gift I ever have seen given from a sponsor. After that, it was all over. District 4's industry is fishing. He'd been throwing tridents since he could toddle. Within a matter of days, the crown was his. I think he killed close to twelve tributes.

The citizens of the Capitol have been salivating over him ever seen. See, they couldn't actually touch him until he turned sixteen, but as soon as he did, he was dogged by those desperately in love with them. During his annual visit during the Games, he could go through four or five lovers. But no one retained his favor for long, because he never stayed. Once he left, he'd never come back.

Finnick _is_ one of the most stunning, sensuous people on the planet. But he's never been attractive to me, probably because he's too pretty. Or because he's too easy to get. Too easy to lose.

"No, thanks," I say to the sugar. "I would love to borrow your outfit sometime, though." Finnick scoffs and looks down pointedly. He's draped in a golden net that's strategically knotted at his grown, so he is _technically_ naked. I'm sure his stylist things the more of Finnick the audience sees, the better. I can't argue with that logic. He grins lopsidedly at me.

"You're absolutely terrifying me in that getup. What happened to the pretty little-girl dresses? He asks.

"I outgrew them," I say.

"You certainly did," he grins, wetting his lips with his tongue. I fight the urge to recoil. "It's too bad about this Quell thing. You could have made out like a bandit in the Capitol. Jewels, money, anything you wanted."

"I don't like jewels, and I have more money than I need. What do you spend all yours on, anyway, Finnick?"

"Oh, I haven't dealt in anything as common as money in years," Finnick says.

"Then how do they pay you for the pleasure of your company?" I watch him closely as I say this, but his body language gives nothing away.

"With secrets," he breathes, tipping his head so his lips almost touch mine. "What about you, girl on fire? Do you have any secrets worth my time?" I study him again for a minute, wondering if he's implying what I think he's implying. District 4 _is _one of the districts that's had the most uprisings, even if Finnick is a pretty-boy plaything of the Capitol.

Cautiously, I tell him, "Maybe. You'd have to wait and see, though."

His eyes harden just the slightest bit, and I've nearly confirmed that he's part of this plan, when he says abruptly, "Peeta's coming. Sorry about this Quell business. I know how devastating it must be, especially for you." Without another word, he sweeps off and leaves me dumbstruck, hand still resting on the back of one of our horses.

Peeta's beside me now, dressed in an outfit identical to mine. "What did Finnick Odair want?"

I turn and put my lips close to Peeta's and drop my eyelids in imitation of Finnick. "He offered me sugar and wanted to know all my secrets," I say in my best seductive voice.

Peeta laughs. "Ugh. Not really."

"Really," I laugh. "I'll tell you more when my skin stops crawling." I move closer to him and give him a hug, just so I can have the pretext to whisper, "I think he's part of it," in his ear. Peeta chuckles like I've said something funny, and gives me a light kiss on the lips.

I feel his fingers brushes ever-so-lightly against my stomach, and he says, "How's our girl doing?"

I sigh. I don't need any reminders of the baby right now, not when we have so much more to worry about. But I remind myself—as I do almost every day—that she is half-Peeta, which is enough to bring a reluctant smile to my face when I say, "I think she's fine."

"Has she moved yet?"

"I don't think so," I reply, confused. "Don't you think I would've told you?"

"I guess," he says back, stepping away from me a little so he can look at me. "Wow, Katniss. You look incredible."

"No more than you," I say, waving off his compliment. "I feel fat. Can you tell?" Peeta backs away a few more steps, studying me. I feel a hot blush in my face.

"Only a little," he decides before moving next to me again. "Won't be able to see a thing once our suits are on."

We stand in silence for a few more minutes, holding hands, when Peeta asks, "Do you think we'd have ended up like this if only one of us had won?" He glances around at the other victors. "Just another part of the freak show?"

"Sure," I say. "Especially you."

"Oh, and why especially me?" he says with a smile.

"Because you have a weakness for beautiful things and I don't," I say with an air of superiority. "They would lure you into their Capitol ways and you'd be lost entirely."

This makes him laugh, a real, genuine, full-bodied laugh. "Having an eye for beauty isn't the same thing as a weakness," Peeta points out. "Except possibly when it comes to you." The music is beginning and I see the doors opening for the first chariot and hear the roar of the crowd. Peeta gets in the chariot and pulls me up by the hand.

"Hold still," I say, and straighten his crown. "Thank God we don't have to play nice for this crowd."

"Finally, acting how I want to act," he sighs. I look at him with new appreciation. I always thought playing nice was his strong suit, but instead, he's saying things that I myself would say.

"That's almost exactly what I said to Cinna." He looks at me in that funny way of his, and I look up into those blue eyes that no amount of dramatic makeup can make _truly_ deadly and remember how, just a year ago, I was prepared to kill him. Convinced he was trying to kill me. Now, everything is different. I fell in love with him. I married him. His child is living inside of me. I am prepared to risk everything—my own life, the life of my unborn child—to get him out of that arena. Without another word, our hands find each other. As always, we will go into this as one.


	22. Chapter 22

** Just a quick reminder: this content belongs to Suzanne Collins, not me!**

When the Tribute Parade is over, the known morphling addicts from District 6 are still staring at us. It makes me uncomfortable, but Peeta brushes it off. He's used to having people look at him. It doesn't bother him. When the doors of the Training Center finally close, Peeta and I relax a little. Cinna and Portia are there, and Haymitch has made an appearance as well, only he's not at our chariot. He's over with the tribute of District 11. I see him nod in our direction and they follow him over to greet us.

I know Chaff by sight because I've spent years watching him pass a bottle back and forth with Haymitch on television. He's dark skinned, about six feet tall, and one of his arms ends in a stump because he lost his hand in the Games he won thirty years ago. I'm sure they offered him some artificial replacement, like they did Peeta when they had to amputate his lower leg, but I guess he didn't take it.

The woman, Seeder, looks almost like she could be from the Seam, with her olive skin and straight black hair streaked with silver. Only her golden brown eyes mark her as from another district. She must be around sixty, but she still looks strong, and there's no sign she's turned to liquor or morphling or any other chemical form of escape over the years. She nods at me good naturedly and I try to smile, because Haymitch said we need allies. And she's from Rue's district, so she can' t be too bad. Not to mention, she is probably a member of our rebel plot.

Chaff throws his good arm around me and gives me a big kiss right on the mouth. I jerk back, startled, while he and Haymitch guffaw.

We don't have much time to say or do anything else before the Capitol attendants are directing us towards the elevators. Judging by the looks on their faces, they're uncomfortable with the camaraderie and friendship among the victors. At the very least, they're unused to it. Hand in hand, Peeta and I walk towards the elevetors, when a girl next to me pulls off a headdress of leafy branches and tosses it behind her.

Johanna Mason. District 7. Lumber and paper, thus the tree. She won by convincingly portraying herself as weak and helpless so that she would be ignored. Then she demonstrated a wicked ability to murder. She ruflles up her spiky hair and rolls her wide-set brown eyes. "You guys look amazing. Wish I'd gotten Cinna. Our tributes have been trees for forty years under her." She starts unbuckling her bracelets and turns towards Peeta, Haymitch, and me. "So what do you think? Now that the whole world wants to sleep with you?"

"I don't think—"

"I wasn't talking to you," she snaps, looking directly at Peeta. "Unzip me?" He looks taken aback, but unzips her anyway. I shoot him annoyed look, but then look away. She lets her custome drop t othe floor, then kicks it away in disgust. Except for her slippers, she doesn't have on a stitch of clothing. "That's better." She looks directly at Peeta, who looks at her. Something like panic starts to seize up in my chest. The entire elevator ride, she chats to Peeta about his paintings while the light of his still-glowing costume reflects off her bare breasts. I don't look at him, but I just know he's grinning. I toss away his hand while she's still in the elevator. She barely even looks at me. Just keeps smiling at Peeta. The panic doesn't go away, so when the elevator finally drops her off and makes its way to the twelfth floor, I storm out of the elevator and lock myself in the empty compartment I stayed in last year. He knocks on the door over and over again, but I ignore him, trying to sort out the panic in my chest.

For the longest time, Peeta has said he loves me, only me. Even after I broke his heart on the train home last year. Suddenly, he's unzipping a girl's dress and looking at her while she's naked and smiling at her. Something red hot flashes in front of my eyes when I remember that I'm carrying his child. Chatting with naked women while a life he helped create grows inside of me.

Finally, an eerie calm takes me over. It's only natural that he would get bored with me. After all, I love him only in the limited way that I'm capable of, panicking every few days about the consequences of growing so close to someone. Shutting myself in one of the spare bedrooms in our house for hours at a time while he knocks on the door and begs me to come out. Shutting him out after we have a particularly happy moment or day. Because I'm terrified of what this—us—means. Even if I love him more than I thought possible—it is still not enough, because I am broken and my heart doesn't have the capacity that his does. No wonder he's excited about a naked, beautiful, willing woman.

"Katniss," I hear him say through the door. "What's wrong?"

I only manage a feeble, "Go away." He doesn't. I'm not surprised. In this way, Peeta is predictable and stubborn. Although I don't see the point of him lingering by the door, begging me to come out if he's that interested in Johanna.

I think for a moment that maybe I'm being irrational. I shove that thought aside a minute later, though, because wouldn't he be upset if I helped undress someone like Finnick Odair? If I talked to Finnick Odair while his naked, glistening body was only inches from mine? My skin crawls even thinking about it. My capacity for romantic love and lust and desire starts and ends with Peeta.

"Katniss, at least tell me what I did wrong," he moans through the door. I crawl over there and see through the crack at the bottom that he's sitting down, leaning against the door. "Let me in or I'm sending Haymitch to break down the door."

I roll my eyes. Of course I'd rather have Haymitch right now than Peeta. Haymitch, at least, would be able to help put what I feel into words. At least Haymitch would give me sarcastic, biting, but truthful advice on how to handle the situation. So I stay silent and wait for him to come, and come he does.

"Sweetheart," he says in the dripping, sarcastic sneer of his. "If you won't let the boy in, at least let me come in." I stand up a moment later, unlock the door and slide it open just long enough for Haymitch to slip inside. I lock it again and hear Peeta's loud, annoyed sigh. "What's the matter with you?"

I give him a hard look, because he knows what's wrong. He rolls his eyes at me and settles next to me on the floor. We sit in silence for a few minutes, because Haymitch and I understand each other so well we don't feel the need to fill the silence with empty, pointless words. Finally, he says, "Johanna was trying to antagonize you. That's all."

"I don't care about Johanna," I deadpan. Haymitch sighs impatiently.

"Johanna isn't interested in the boy. She and I enjoy each other's company on a regular basis," he tries again. Even though I wish I could laugh—of course Haymitch and Johanna sleep together—I exhale sharply through my nose and turn to glare at Haymitch.

"I just said I don't care about Johanna."

"You're stupid if you think the boy cares one bit about anyone else," Haymitch retorts.

"He looked, didn't he," I snap.

"No," Haymitch snaps back. "He didn't."

"I don't find any other man attractive in that way. I literally can't," I say, annoyed that he isn't getting it, annoyed that I have to explain myself. "It stings to know that he does."

"God, sweetheart, you might be the darling of the Capitol, but you really piss me off sometimes," storms Haymitch. He reaches over and pokes me hard in the chest. I push him away from me. "Every day after the Games he would come crying to me. About _you._ About how much he loved you and how hurt he was. How much he missed you and wanted you back. If you think his love is that feeble—weak enough that a girl like Johanna Mason can wind him up—then you really shouldn't be married to that boy. For God's sake, sweetheart, he was in love with you for eleven years before he spoke a word to you!"

"You said it yourself, Haymitch," I say quietly. Mimicking his voice, I say, "'You could live a hundred lifetimes and never deserve that boy.' You know I can't give him what he deserves."

Haymitch's vicious tone of voice is back when he says, "Look, kid, I'm losing my patience. You married him. For real, not for the cameras. You're knocked up with his kid. You're giving him everything he's ever wanted. Trust me," he scoffs, his tone lighter than before. "I had to listen to him whine every day for six months."

"But I'm not as happy about the child as he is," I point out.

"So? It's a terrible, shitty world we're living in. Of course you're not jumping for joy. But if you're happy and you love the thing—even a little bit—that's enough. You know the boy is just as terrified as you are. He just doesn't show it, for your sake," Haymitch rants. "Stop feeling sorry for yourself. Dinner's in an hour." At this, Haymitch gets up to leave.

I don't get up to lock the door, but when he opens it, I see that Peeta's been eavesdropping this entire time. I don't even bother shutting the door. Instead, I look at him emotionlessly, stand up, and walk to our room. In the shower, I wash off all of the makeup. Let the water make me feel normal again.

Curiously, I look down at my stomach. It's poking out more than ever. I've never stroked it affectionately the way Peeta does. I've never talked to it like he does. So, tentatively, nervously, I rest my palm on the most swollen part of my belly. "Hi," I murmur, feeling awkward. I don't even think it can hear me. "You don't know me yet." I clear my throat, feeling stupid. "I'm Katniss. I'm your mother. You have a dad, too." I put my other hand on my stomach, wishing that I weren't mad at Peeta so he could do this instead of me. It feels better when he does.

"I don't know what you'll look like. I hope you look like him," I say down to my stomach. "He already loves you a lot. He's excited to meet you." Absentmindedly, I rub my thumbs in circles, just like Peeta does. "So am I," I add after a little thought. There's a sensation inside of me, like little bubbles, that makes me jump so hard I lose my balance and slide down the shower wall. In seconds, Peeta is shutting the shower off and is by my side, pulling me to my feet. I wonder how long he was standing outside the door, listening. He still has his clothes on, so he's getting wet. It doesn't seem to bother him.

"Katniss?" asks Peeta. "Are you alright? What happened?"

"Shut up for a minute," I say. It comes out harsher than I intended, but I rub my thumbs on my belly again, harder this time. I've always been in tune with the sounds and feelings of my body, but this is completely unfamiliar. So I shut my eyes and focus, still rubbing my stomach. Then it happens again. Like little butterflies flapping their wings, or tiny bubbles popping inside of me. My eyes fly open. "Oh my God," I panic. "She just moved."

The terror that consumes me feels as old as life itself. I start breathing hard, and Peeta is trying desperately to calm me down. I know now that things will never be the same. I will never be able to neatly detach myself from the life inside of me, never again be able to emotionally distance myself from the little warrior that kicks at the walls of my womb. When the terror subsides, my eyes get cloudy and I gently move his hand to my navel. "She might be too small for you to feel it."

But she's steadily kicking away, little bubbles bursting continuously in my belly. Peeta keeps his hand on my stomach for a long time, an expectant look in his eyes. Finally, when he pushes down just a little harder, his eyes widen and he skitters back a little. "What—" Peeta is unable to find words. "T-tha—did she just—what—"

He starts crying. Even in my anger at him, I know that Haymitch was right. Happy tears are rushing down his face, and he doesn't move his hand from my stomach again, even though she stopped kicking. I think she was just waiting for Peeta to feel it.

"Oh my God, she's so strong," he sobs, leaning his face down and resting it on my stomach. "Just like you." Peeta kisses me roughly, and I kiss him back, both of us so overwhelmed with the life that we made. That our love made. When we break apart, "Hopefully she isn't as stubborn and hardheaded as her mother."

"I'm not stubborn," I lie unashamedly.

"You're too stubborn to believe that I love you for what you are," he breathes, forehead still rests against my own. "That I could never want anything else in the world besides you. Haymitch was right. You've given me everything."

"You shouldn't eavesdrop," is all I say.

"You're stupid to think that Johanna Mason holds any appeal for me. That she could ever, ever compare to you," he mumbles. He kisses me again. "So stupid." I just look at him, completely oblivious to everything else. I hope our child is exactly like him.

PB

At dinner, Peeta is so bursting with happiness and pride that everyone looks at him expectantly.

"What gives?" Haymitch asks. "One minute, she's locking you out, and the next, you're so happy you look constipated."

I can tell that Peeta wants to tell everyone. Cinna already knows, and I'm sure Portia does too. I sigh, and nod at him, because truly it's better if Effie hears it from us instead of during the interviews. She would throw an absolute tantrum.

"The baby moved," he announces. Cinna and Portia smile widely, and even Haymitch's face breaks into an unwilling grin.

"Wow," Portia exclaims.

"I'm so happy for you," Cinna says, studying my face, trying to judge if it's something I'm happy about. I give a nonchalant shrug of my shoulders, but there's no mistake the tiny, tiny smile that curls the corners of my mouth.

"Baby?" Effie cries. "What baby?"

Peeta and I look at each other awkwardly. Maybe we should've led with announcing that we're pregnant, but he was so excited he couldn't help it.

"Don't tell me," Effie says seriously, "that you and Katniss are—"

"It's true," Haymitch says, scowling unconvincingly at his plate.

Effie—for blatantly obvious reasons—doesn't know about the breakout. So it's totally unsurprising when she bursts into tears right then.

"I'm sorry," she sobs. "How wonderful." I almost laugh, because her sobs and her words are truly at odds. But I don't laugh. I very carefully press my fingers against my lips and when I look out of the corner of my eye, Peeta is doing the same.

There is an awkward silence. Effie is trying to muffle her sobs, Haymitch downs the rest of his bottle of wine, Cinna and Portia grin at each other. Peeta and I don't know what to do.

It passes, as all things do. Effie stops crying and I'm momentarily startled that none of her makeup has moved an inch. She gives one final sniff before saying, "Well, I at least hope you've thought of names."

"What's the point, Effie?" I ask, not meaning to be so callous. I don't mean it the way she takes it. I just meant that there are months left between now and her birth, so it would be stupid to spend time thinking of names while there could be a full scale rebellion happening. From the tears that have filled her eyes, I can tell that she thinks I meant there's no point because either Peeta or I will be dead soon. I want to apologize, but Peeta opens his mouth too soon.

"I've thought of a few," he reassures her, reaching across the table to take her hand. "I haven't told Katniss yet, though. I don't think she cares too much." He throws a smile my way, and normally I would be irritated with him for this. My fear of this child has made thinking of names for it nearly impossible. But I felt her move today, and she is more real to me in this moment than she ever has been. So I smile back at him.

"What are they?" she asks, sniffling.

"Oh, just this and that," says Peeta evasively. "Just common District 12 names."

"We could name her Effie," I chime in, hoping this will cheer her up. I'm not wrong, because as soon as the words leave my mouth, such a brilliant smile comes to her face that I'm tempted to roll my eyes. As always with Effie, I don't.

"It's a girl?" she asks excitedly.

"We don't know," Peeta says quickly. "That's just how I've come to think of her."

"It's simple enough to find out," says Effie brusquely, businesslike as ever. "How far along are you?"

"I don't…exactly know," I answer, embarrassed. "Mom thinks sixteen weeks, or something like that. I don't know how I'm supposed to find out."

Cinna comes to my rescue. "There are tests," begins Cinna. "Simple urine tests that are reasonably accurate. We could have one brought here."

"No," I splutter. "I don't want anyone outside of this room to know about the baby until we announce it to the country. Even an attendant."

Portia waves her hand dismissively at my concerns and reassures me, "Katniss, I could get it for you." Peeta looks at me as if to ask if I want to know. There's honestly no reason to object. Even if I didn't want to know, Effie would probably force me to take the test anyway, so I nod tiredly at him.

We finish our dinner in a hurry, as everyone is anxious to find out how far along I am—even Haymitch, and I wonder when everyone became so invested in this child—and less than thirty minutes later, Portia is rushing through the door with a box in her hand. I groan.

"Everyone go away," I snap, taking the box and walking into the bathroom. I walk out a few minutes later, the weird, pee-strip test in hand, shaking it in the air like it's a fan. Everyone is sitting in the living room, talking and laughing. Cinna, when he notices my return, assumes responsibility for reading the test. He pulls out a long, folded-up piece of paper from the box.

"What's that?" I ask. He studies it for a minute before answering me.

"It describes the baby at each interval of pregnancy," he answers, still studying the paper. After ten minutes or so, the stick beeps and he glances down at it. He reads the paper in silence for a while, and tells me, "At seventeen weeks, the baby's heart is beating—"

"Obviously," sneers Haymitch.

"—she has fingerprints, her brain is working, her bones are just starting to solidify, and her nervous system is developing at a fast rate." Cinna continues like Haymitch never interrupted him. "She also has fingernails."

"Fingernails? Really?" Peeta asks, completely enamored.

"Yes," laughs Cinna. "She weights anywhere from 4-5 ounces—that's on average—and as big as a turnip."

"Wow," I breathe. "All of that?" No one responds, but I look over at Haymitch, and he has an odd expression on his face. Almost emotional. I allow myself to think of Haymitch with the child. Maybe it would soften him a little, make him a little less dark and cynical. Help him quit drinking. I scoff out loud, because even if he did love the child, I doubt he'd stop drinking. Peeta seems to be following my train of thought.

"How're you feeling, grandpa?" jokes Peeta.

"Don't call me that," snaps Haymitch.

PB

Training is uneventful. Half of the victors don't even show up. Per Haymitch's advice, Peeta and I try and make friends. I got into an argument with Haymitch yesterday because he refused to tell us which people we're supposed to ally with. He only tells us, enigmatically, that Finnick and Chaff are good options. Finally, exasperated and irritated, I yelled at him. He yelled back. Peeta had to step between us and mediate, as he always does.

On the whole, I like the pair from District 3, Wiress and Beetee. They're geniuses whose talents are invention. It makes my supposed interest in fashion feel weak. But they do point something out to me; hovering near Plutarch Heavensbee's head is a rippling square, like old, wavy glass. But it's a force field, meant to separate us from the Gamemakers. I start to get suspicious, because there's absolutely no chance that the tributes from Three aren't in on it. They have to be. Their district is one of those that's had the most unrest. I wish Haymitch would just tell me who to talk to.

"Does a force field like that surround the arena?" I ask. "To keep us in?"

Beetee lowers his glasses, studies the square for a while longer, and turns to me. "Yes," he confirms. "Keeps us in and keeps them out." He looks at me speculatively.

"Ah," I say dispassionately.

"Chink," Wiress points out.

"In the armor, as it were," Beetee finishes for her. She has a habit of letting her sentences fall away unfinished. It's Beetee that picks them back up and finishes them. "Ideally, it'd be invisible, wouldn't it?"

I know he's trying to tell me something, but I can't figure out what. What I do decide, though, is that breakout or not, I want them on my team.

Peeta has no issues making friends. Unlike me, he's social and kind and funny, so these people flock to him. He throws spears with Brutus, the man from 2, and Chaff.

At the knot-tying station, Finnick Odair insists on annoying me by finishing a complicated knot that I'd been sweating over, his long, graceful fingers finishing it in seconds. I roll my eyes at him—I'm certain he's part of the plan—because of course he can tie knots like that. He's from District 4. He probably had nothing to do when he was a kid except manipulate ropes into fancy knots for nets, wield tridents, and learn to kill people. It irritates me. I watch for a minute while he picks up a length of rope, makes a noose, then pretends to hang himself for my amusement. I try not to smile, and try to find Peeta. He's in a circle of knife throwers. The morphling addicts from 6 are painting each other's faces with bright pink swirls. The man from District 5 is vomiting wine on the sword-fighting floor. Johanna Mason—I still think her name with a shade of resentment—is naked again and oiling her skin down for a wrestling lesson.

At lunch, I try to be more sociable. Chaff, who is one of Haymitch's best friends, talks too loud and makes bad jokes a lot, but most of them are at his own expense. I can see why he would be good for Haymitch, whose thoughts run so darkly. Depending on how things go at the Cornucopia, it's likely that I'll team up with him, and Seeder.

After lunch, I do the edible-insect station with the tributes from 8. Cashmere and Gloss, the sister and brother from District 1, invite me over and we make hammocks for a while. They're polite but cool, and I spend the whole time thinking about how I killed both of the tributes from their district last year. They probably knew them, and might've mentored them. My attempt to connect with them is, at the very best, mediocre. I don't particularly care. I could kill either of them easily.

I join Enobaria—a victor from District 2 that, after ripping a tribute's throat open with her teeth, had her teeth filed into sharp points, with gold inlaid on all of them—at sword training, but it's clear neither of us wants to team up. Finnick appears again when I'm picking up fishing tips, but mostly just to introduce me to Mags, the elderly woman who's also from District 4. I sear she can make a fishhook out of anything—a thorn, a wishbone, an earring. Eventually, I tune out the trainer and try to copy Mags. When I make a pretty good hook out of a bent nail and fasten it to some strands of my hair, she gives me a toothless smile and an unintelligible comment I think might be praise. Suddenly, I remember how she volunteered to replace Annie Cresta—I also shudder at that name, because I don't think the nightmare is ever going to leave me. She didn't do it because she thought she'd win. She did it to save Annie, like I did with Prim. I decide I want her on my team.

Eventually, I get so tired of trying to be nice and make friends that I go to the archery station for some sanity. It's wonderful there, getting to try out all the different bows and arrows. The trainer immediately sees that the standing targets offer no challenge for me and begins to throw these fake birds high into the air for me to shoot. At first, I think it's stupid, but it's actually kind of fun. Since I'm hitting everything that he throws up, he starts increasing the number of birds he sends airborne. I forget the rest of the gym and the victors and how stressed I am and lose myself in the shooting. When I manage to take down five birds in one round, I realize it's so quiet I can hear each one hit the floor. I turn and see the majority of the victors have stopped to watch me. Their faces show everything from envy to hatred to admiration. Later that day, Haymitch tells me that at least half of the victors have requested me as an ally.

I look at him cautiously and say, "I want Mags, Chaff, and District Three. Maybe Finnick."

Haymitch sighs and orders a bottle of wine, "You should ally with Finnick. District Three isn't to be ruled out, considering Beetee won his Games by electrocuting at least six tributes at once."

My mouth falls open. "What?"

"Didn't you watch the tapes Effie sent?" Peeta mocks. "You were sitting right next to me the entire time."

"Some I paid less attention to," I snap, defensive.

"Yeah, he set some sort of electrical trap," Haymitch remarks, pouring himself a generous helping of wine. "Killed six or seven all at once." The idea that Beetee—a remarkably intelligent, soft-spoken man—has killed more people than Peeta and I combined.

"Oh," is all I say.

PB

It's the last day of training, and, while I still get teased some, I feel like I've finally been initiated into the victors' circle. I spent time with almost everyone. The morphlings, who, with Peeta's help, paint me into a field of yellow flowers. Finnick gives me trident lessons in exchange for archery lessons. The more I get to know them, the worse it is. They actually aren't so bad, on the whole. I could be friends with some of them. A few of them—if it were a different world—I would be inclined to protect. But I can't because some of them are going to have to die if Peeta and I—and our child—are to make it out alive.

The day ends with our private sessions. We each get fifteen minutes before the Gammakers to amaze them with our skills, but I don't know what any of us might have to show them. They all know what we can do. They've all seen us kill. So we joke about it at lunch. What we might do. Sing, dance, strip, tell jokes. Mags, who I can understand a little better now, decides she's just going to take a nap. I don't know what I'm going to do. Shoot some arrows, I guess. Haymitch said to surprise them if we could, but I'm fresh out of ideas.

Since I'm scheduled to go last, the dining room gets quiet and quieter as the tributes from each district go in to perform. As people disappear out the door, all I can think is that they have a matter of days to live.

"Decided what to do for the Gamemakers yet?" Peeta asks, taking my hands.

"Can't really shoot an arrow at them this year, with the force field and all. What about you?"

"Not a clue. I keep wishing I could bake a cake or something," he says.

"Do some more camouflage," I suggest. We sit in silence awhile and then I blurt out the thing that's on both of our minds. "How are we going to kill these people, Peeta? How are we going to watch them die?"

"I don't know." He leans his forehead down on our entwined hands.

"I wish I didn't get to know them. It'll make it so much harder than last time. Except for Rue, maybe. But I guess I never really could've killer her, anyway. She was just too much like Prim."

Peeta looks up at me, his brow creased in thought. "Her death was the most despicable, wasn't it?"

"None of them were very pretty," I say. They call Peeta, and it's nearly forty minutes before they call me in.

The sharp smell of cleaner permeates the room, and I look around curiously as I walk in. It's when I get closer to the Gamemakers that I see it. I see what Peeta's done. He's painted Rue, her small body wreathed in flowers, her dark curly hair spread out on the grass. I stare at it. I almost don't care that I'm wasting my minutes in here, until Plutarch Heavensbee—who is trying not to look at me and I at him—tells me that my time has begun.

Suddenly, I want to hold them accountable for everything. I want to show them that, even though we've always been pawns in their game, they are too. _Do you have any idea how much I hate you? You, who have given your talents to the Games?_

Suddenly, I know just what I'm going to do. Something that will blow Peeta's painting of Rue right out of the water. I go over to the knot-tying station and manipulate a length of rope into a noose. I drag one of the target dummies out into the middle of the room and, using some chinning bars, hang it so it dangles by the neck. Tying its hands behind its back would be a nice touch, but I think I might be running out of time. I hurry over to the camouflage station, where Peeta's made a colossal mess. But I find a container of blood red berry juice that will serve my purposes just fine. I carefully finger paint the words on its body, concealing them from view. Then I step away quickly to watch the reaction on the Gamemakers' faces as they read the name on the dummy.

Seneca Crane.


	23. Chapter 23

**Just a quick reminder: this content belongs to Suzanne Collins, not me!**

"You'd have thought we planned it," says Peeta, giving me just a hint of a smile. The disapproval in the room hits me like a ton of bricks. Haymitch is breathing heavily out his nose, Effie has gotten up and left in tears, and our stylists are gaping at us, openmouthed. I know the danger of doing what we did. Breakout plan or not—I think these words as a disclaimer so much lately—our little rebellion will only bring more trouble on us in the arena. Plutarch Heavensbee, head of our underground, has a part to play, as well. He cannot let us off easy for the sake of the rebellion; he, for the moment, is still a cold, calculating Gamemaker who must punish the rebellious. Still, I think what Peeta did is amazing, and I can't say I'm sorry about any of it.

"Didn't you?" Portia asks, her fingers pressing her eyelids down as if she's warding off a very bright light.

"No," I say, looking at Peeta with a new sense of appreciation. Peeta, who is always good and kind, has something of a fighting spirit. I add that to the list of things I can appreciate and love about him. "Neither of us even knew what we were going to do before we went in."

The room is silent for a long time. I have to admit that I don't understand Haymitch's disapproval. Either way, we are going into the arena, he knows that. What does it matter if we were defiant in our training sessions? In a week, we will either be dead or in District 13.

"What exactly," begins Haymitch, taking a huge slug of his drink, "were you trying to accomplish with your painting?"

"I'm not sure. I just wanted to hold them accountable, if only for a moment, for killing that little girl," says Peeta. Under the table, our hands find each other. _Only, I keep wishing that I could think of a way to. . . to show the Capitol they don't own me. That I'm more than just a piece in their Games._

Peeta. His words from a year ago echo around in my head, reverberating and shaking my body to the core, to the very marrow of my bones. They make more sense to me than they ever have. This breakout isn't just about surviving, isn't just about getting out; it's about showing the Capitol—even though our lives were never _truly_ ours—that they don't own us, that they _can't_ own us, anymore. Peeta, who is often mistaken for a passive, kind-hearted boy in love, is the true rebel out of us. I look at him out of the corner of my eye, surreptitiously. How I could've missed his fight, his defiance, his passion, before now, I have no idea. But I can see it now, burning quietly in the blue of his eyes.

And I've never loved him more.

"Well, that was stupid," says Haymitch flatly. One look at him tells us that he has more to say, but this isn't the time or place. Neither of us say anything; we just stare at our plates and pretend to be ashamed of what we did. I don't think we convince anyone.

Later, Cinna pulls us over to the television set gently, and a red-eyed Effie finally rejoins us. The tributes' faces come up, district by district, and their scores flash under their pictures. One through twelve. Unlike most years—when the tributes from 1,2 and 4 have predictably high scores, and everyone else has low to medium—at least half of the tributes score an 8 or above, including Johanna Mason. I groan into my hands. Staying alive until we can be extracted has never seemed more difficult than it does now.

"Have they ever given a zero?" Peeta asks, rubbing a spot between my shoulders.

"No, but there's a first time for everything," answers Cinna.

And it turns out he's right. Because when Peeta and I each pull a twelve, we make Hunger Games history. No one feels like celebrating, though.

"Why did they do that?" I ask.

"So that the others will have no choice but to target you," deadpans Haymitch. He doesn't say anything else, just walks out of the room. Effie marches out not long after. Eventually Cinna gives us both a tight smile, kisses me on the cheek and excuses himself. Portia does much of the same, until it's just him and I in the living room. I turn to smile at him.

"Wonder why Haymitch is mad at us," I muse. I rest my hand on my stomach and my smile fades, wanting more than anything to be back in District 12. While the sun slowly died in the west, we'd be moving against each other—my own strength making him stronger, his heart moving and sinking into my own, teaching me to be better—weakening sunlight submerging our bodies in golden light until it faded to the hazy blue of dusk. He'd run his fingers up and down the length of my stomach, making me shiver with love and desire and anxiety, and he'd tell me that I was everything he ever wanted. We'd whisper baby names to each other in the dark, terrified but exalted, until the love that passed between us was too much to bear, and he'd get that desperate look in his eye that tells me that I'm the only person that he'll ever need.

"Katniss," he murmurs. I hadn't realized my eyes had glazed over with daydreams, and he was looking at me concernedly. "You okay?"

The pressure of his eyes on my own erases the daydreams from my mind, because they are not possible. I don't want them to be possible, not anymore. Not with a child that would be guaranteed a place in the Hunger Games someday, not with the threat of Snow hanging over us—because even if we convinced him, he'd still come back for us and punish us, because no rebellion we started could ever be truly extinguished—not with Prim's name still in those Reaping bowls. In Thirteen, we could have a new life. Where Peeta's child could be safe. Where I would never have to worry about Prim's life being stolen away.

"Yes," I say finally. "Just thinking about home."

"What in particular?" asks Peeta, running his knuckles down the side of my face. It used to make me slightly uncomfortable when he looked at me like this, in the earlier days of our relationship, because even though I loved him, I was sure that nothing I did, no love I gave, would be good enough, would be enough for him. Now, I look back at him, knowing that I love him with everything that I have. I'm not silly. I'm not foolish and giggly and stupid like other girls in love, but I have softened somewhat. I love him in the way that I can, in the frighteningly overprotective, practical, adult, Games-hardened way that is both desperate and difficult. We scream at each other for hours because he disappears without telling me where he's going, and that old fear, that old instinct that the Games instills in you comes back. The instinct that makes me fear for his life whenever he's out of my sight, almost waiting for a cannon, comes back. This is why our love is difficult. It brings out the worst in us, as trauma and survival usually do. But he never leaves, and neither do I, and it is this that redeems us. The desperate way we love each other brings out the best of us. His arms are always there, and so are his lips. We love each other in this way, and it erases the difficulty of two people who are so damaged loving each other. I think it's enough for him. It's enough for me.

"What we'd be doing if we weren't here," I answer, finally managing to pull myself out of my own thoughts. "It's stupid and pointless, but still."

"Not really," says Peeta. He opens his arms to me, and I let myself go into them without hesitation.

"I feel so old," I whisper. I don't have to explain what I mean, because he already knows.

"Me, too," murmurs Peeta, his lips falling on my hair. I lean into him, inhaling the smell of him. It's an instant comfort; familiar and safe. "I'm seventeen, but I feel like I'm forty."

"I don't tell you that I love you often enough," I tell him abruptly.

"Yes you do," replies Peeta.

"Not nearly as much as you tell me," I argue.

"Katniss," he sighs. "What is this about?" It takes a while for me to answer, because I can't really find the right words. _What if you die in there? What if I die? What if I escape and you don't? What if you escape and I don't?_

Finally, I just say, "If one of us dies in there and the other lives, I just want you to know how much I love you. I'm thankful, all the time, that you said my name on that stage. Even if I didn't know it then, it saved me." It isn't much, but it is enough for him. He pulls my face to his roughly, letting his lips take the place of words.

PB

We spend the next day on the roof, alone. Haymitch and Effie excused us from their unbearable interview coaching, so we have the entire day to do what we want. Wishing desperately that we could go somewhere else, we instead take an enormous picnic basket up there, determined to enjoy what could very well be one of our last days alive.

We make a game of throwing apples into the force field and catching them. We talk—about hunting, about baking, about Prim and Haymitch and any other thing that comes to our minds—and we stare at each other, as if we can commit each other's faces to perfect memory if we look long enough.

Finally, I ask, "Will you tell me a story?"

"About what?"

"Anything. Something happy," I reply, my eyes still on him. His smile stretches across his face, and in this moment, I love him so much that my chest aches with the pain of it.

"Okay," he almost whispers. His fingers move to brush my hair out of my face. My eyes cling to the flush of his skin, the way the fading sun catches his blond hair, the subtle ripple of muscles in his arms when he stretches. "Do you remember the first night of our Tour?" I nod, not wanting my own rough voice to interrupt the perfect cadence of his. "I was—everything looked different that day. The sun, the sky, District 12. Even Effie looked different, better that day. I'd been so miserable for months, so angry with you, but missing you so much that it hurt. I thought maybe if I painted you the way I remembered you, I could stop missing you. That I could paint you out of my memory so somehow it was more bearable. It didn't work, though. I hated myself for how much I loved you and how much I needed you," he explains, looking down at his hands. "Then, one night, when I was trying to paint you away, I heard a knock at my door. I'll never forget the way you looked that night, Katniss. I hadn't been so close to you since the cameras left and it was like every single reason I loved you came back and hit me so hard it took my breath away."

"You were angry," I protest. He laughs a little.

"I was angry with myself for loving you so much," he argues. "I was angry because, after months of silence, I still felt exactly the same way as I did before. And you—you told me you finally figured it out, figured out how you felt, and I was sure that I was going to wake up from a dream, bitter and disappointed. I was angry because even if it had been a dream, I would wake up and love you just as much as I ever did." He clears his throat, and I'm too lost in his story to immediately realize that his eyes are wet. "Anyway, later that day, it was like I was stuck on this cloud of happiness and absolutely nothing could ruin it. You were there, you were with me, you were trying. You told me that it was real, or at least some of it was real. And we sat in that stupid train compartment and we talked and talked until you suddenly told me you loved me. At first, I was foolishly happy. But it didn't take me long to start thinking that it was a tactic, that you were only telling me because you had to manipulate me again," he smiles apologetically at me, trying to soften his words. I tense a little bit, but I don't pull away. It was true, I did manipulate him in the last Games. I nod at him to continue you. "I thought there was some bigger agenda in play, and I sat in my compartment for so long trying to figure out what it was, trying to figure out why you'd tell me that. It wasn't until I heard you screaming my name from your compartment that I gave up trying to pretend it wasn't real. That you were telling me the truth, that you really did love me. I realized how horrible it was of me to just walk out on you after you had truly exposed yourself to me, showed me your vulnerabilities for the first time," he murmurs, his voice rough. He leans his head down and touches our entwined hands with his forehead. Like he's telling me that he's sorry.

"I did that, too, Peeta. And it was much worse," I say. He doesn't acknowledge what I said, just keeps talking.

"And you-you told me to _show_ you how much I loved you. Katniss, I-" he stutters. "God, I wished that I could've cut myself open and given you my heart, given you everything. Your life has been so hard, Katniss, and you deserve so much better than to take care of everyone around you without taking care of yourself. When I saw you looking at me like that—like you couldn't actually believe that someone could love you—something inside of me just broke apart."

"I thought this was supposed to be happy," I frown, looking at his furrowed brown and downturned mouth. His expression changes when he looks at me, though; he smiles at me in that soft way and I find myself smiling back without thinking about it.

"It is," he tells me. "It was one of the happiest nights of my life. Anyway, you pulled me towards you and told me to show you, and God, I knew then that nothing on Earth compared to you, to being with you. I'd thought about that moment my entire life. I'd fantasized about what it would be like to feel your body moving against mine, what it would be like to kiss your skin, what it would be like to feel your lips on my neck. I loved you so much that night, every part of me hurt. Katniss, I-," he takes a deep breath, and his voice shakes. "Katniss, I thought I would die for you that night. The way you were kissing me and the way you were moving and the way your body felt and how much I loved you, how much I wanted you, how much I needed you—I loved you so much I thought I was going to die for you. Everything I'd ever wanted, my entire life, was to be with you, and all of those nights I'd dream of it, it couldn't even compare. Nothing on Earth compares to you," he says again, his voice low and husky.

I look at Peeta for a long time, because I don't know what to say. I'd never thought anyone could love me this much. Frankly, there isn't much about me to love. I'm a decent shot with an arrow, I'm a good haggler, and I'm overprotective of the people I love. Those are about my three decent qualities. That old, nagging feeling that nothing I give him is enough start to creep up on me again, but I try to shove it away before it gets too far. _This is Peeta,_ I tell myself. _You love him more than you thought was possible._

So I lean up to him and whisper against his lips, "I thought I would die for you, too."

"Not really," murmurs Peeta, his breath pushing against my face.

"I remember looking at you and thinking that nothing in the world made more sense," I say back. We are only millimeters apart. "I remember feeling like I was flying at the same time I felt like the Earth on top of me had pulled all of the breath from my lungs. But then I thought maybe I didn't need to breathe, maybe I'd never need to breathe again, as long as you were there." Peeta looks at me. I look back. Our foreheads touch, and we don't kiss. We don't speak. We hardly even breathe.

We sit like this for a long time, until the sun begins to set. We turn, then, and watch the sun go down in each other's arms. We both could die soon, and I know that he's thinking the same thing. His hand, eventually, moves to my belly. _All three of us could be dead soon,_ I correct myself mentally. The thought is unbearable, so I move my hand on top of his.

A thought occurs to me, and I say, "Peeta, we should name her."

"You're not even halfway through the pregnancy," he responds, surprised. He pulls me to my feet, because it's getting chilly and we should really go inside. After looking at my face for a few long seconds, he leads me to the elevator, where we get on and he tiredly presses the button.

"I mean, I know that. I just—if I die—if _we_ die, I should say—I just want her to have a name," I mumble, not entirely sure if I'm being stupid. The elevator lets us off at our floor, and we go to our room, where we order hot chocolate and those flaky little rolls.

He smiles at me, a little sadly, sitting on the bed. I sit next to him, taking his hand and tracing little circles on it with my fingernail. "You're not going to die," he protests. "But I think that it's about time we talk about names, anyway. I, of course," he begins with a smile, "have been thinking about this for a long time." This makes me laugh a little bit, which breaks the seriousness of the moment. He grins down at me, and flicks my nose gently.

"What were the names you've been thinking about for a long time?" I ask, laying my head back on his lap and looking inquisitively at him.

"The ones I liked when I was younger were stupid. Names that didn't really mean anything, but I liked the sound of," he says, embarrassed.

"Like what?" I ask, grinning.

"Like…Johanna," he laughs.

I scowl at him, but the grin on his face is too hard to resist. "Johanna. As in your girlfriend from Seven?"

"Don't be stupid," he chuckles. "Yeah, I liked the way it sounded, because we don't have names like that in Twelve. After the Games, when we—when we weren't…talking, I tried not think of things like this. I tried not think of where we'd get married or what we'd name our kids, but I still did," he finishes.

"Tell me what they are," I request.

"It's only three names," he murmurs and flushes. I raise my eyebrows and he chuckles nervously. "Thresh and Haymitch are the first two. They're two men that saved our lives in some way or another. I think that the best way to commemorate them is to let their names live on in our children."

"I thought you wanted a girl," I frown.

"I do," he laughs at my expression. "But I know that there's only one name we could give to a girl, and in any case, we need to be prepared if it's a boy."

So I think about it for a minute, trying to piece the words together in my mind. "Thresh Mellark doesn't do it for me," I tell Peeta honestly. "I like the first name on its own, but they don't go well together."

"You said that about your first name and my last name," he interjects, grinning.

"I got used to it. And I hyphenated. It's Everdeen-Mellark. Don't interrupt," I order. His smile widens and he run his fingers through my hair, untangling the knots and twirling locks around his fingers. "Haymitch Mellark," I say, testing the name out on my tongue. It doesn't sound bad. "Haymitch Mellark." The more I think about it, the more it grows on me. Peeta's right about something: it feels right to commemorate those who saved us in the name of our child. It's more meaningful, and maybe it will lend a sort of strength to our child as they grow up. I smile. "Haymitch is going to hate it," I laugh. "But I really like it."

"Really?" Peeta's eyes light up in a way that I've never seen before, and he kisses me quickly, roughly, sloppily, his tongue slipping against mine in a way that rouses that hunger deep in my chest. But he pulls away too quickly, and I frown. "You really like it?"

"We could call him Mitch, for short," I whisper against his lips. Peeta lands another wet, sloppy kiss on my lips and I move my body against his, tangling my hands in his hair. "I still think it's a girl, though," I add, my words and thoughts running together like snow melting on warm ground. His lips move against mine again, and I drift further and further from the conversation.

"Not yet, Katniss," he tells me, his voice thick and coarse with love and lust and desire. I can feel him hard against my leg, but he puts a finger on my lips to shush me. "Not yet, Katniss," he repeats. "Don't you want to hear the last name?"

"Yes," I breathe, thinking more of the lean muscle of his body than baby names. But I try to listen anyway, because it means something to him.

"Tell me if this upsets you," he warns. I tense up a little bit, but not enough to take me out of the mood. "I thought if she's a girl, we could name her Rue."

"Rue Mellark," I murmur against his mouth. A ghost of a smile comes to my face. "No, it doesn't upset me. It's everything that I would want. You're right. That's really the only name we could give her, if she turns out to be a girl. Rue Mellark."

Peeta looks down at me for a long time, a strange, intoxicating blend of carnal desire, overwhelming love, and protectiveness in his eyes. It lights a fire in the pit of my stomach. "You like it?" he asks, mouth and tongue and heady desire falling on me again. His muscles are hard against my body, and when I don't respond, he just kisses me roughly, sloppily, his eyes fixed on my own.

He sets me on fire with his eyes; love, unconditional, undying love blazing behind them, part-desire, part-need—need so acute it's painful, stabbing my lungs like I'm drowning, praying for one more breath, begging for one last shuddering draw of salty air—desire so consuming it pulls me in magnetically, as if I were a child, a lamb of slaughter drawn to the horn of murder—

"I love you," I breathe. The only combination of words that comes to close to how I feel—it fails miserably. He doesn't care, though; when his lips are moving so roughly against my own that it should hurt—all I want is for him to be closer. When he takes my dress off and kisses down my new, foreign body and I can feel him, lean and muscular, and strong—it isn't enough. When he finally undresses and I see all of him, every beautiful part of him-it's like my body can't bear to be apart from his. When he moves on top of me and I bring my body up to meet his, when his hand is in my hair, knotting and pulling, when my nails slip over his back, when that hunger builds up inside of me and reaches a precipice I wasn't sure existed, when we can do nothing but cling to each other, when he breathes my name, when we have finally had our fill of each other—only then it is enough.

Right before we fall into a fitful sleep, clothes still scattered around the room, I feel Peeta's fingers on my belly again, and he whispers, "I love you, Rue." I've already drifted off, but not too far to hear him add, still talking to her, "Did you know that your mother is the best thing that ever happened to me? You're going to love her, too." As I fall asleep, his soft, crooning words still running together in the background, I feel her move again, like she's telling him, _Not half as much as I'll love you._


	24. Chapter 24

**Just a quick reminder: this content belongs to Suzanne Collins, not me!**

"Get up!" I hear Haymitch hiss. I'm still groggy, and when I open my eyes, I can see from the barely-risen sun that it's very early in the morning. "For God's sake, put some clothes on and meet me on the roof."

I manage to sit up, and find Peeta already dressed. "Whasgoinon?" I mumble, my words slurring together like I'm drunk.

"Haymitch needs to talk to us," Peeta says softly. "Lift your arms up." Too sleepy to care, I do what he asks and he slips a nightgown over my head. After I manage to stand up, I go to the bathroom, splash water on my face, and empty my ever-shrinking bladder. I roll my eyes when I realize that I'll probably use the bathroom at least ten more time today.

Finally, when I'm at least semi-awake, I take Peeta's hand and let him lead me to the roof, where Haymitch is pacing back and forth. The breeze up here is chilly, and I cross my arms over my chest. "What did you wake us up for, Haymitch?" I complain.

"Listen, we don't have time for your whining," Haymitch hisses so quietly I have to lean in really closely. "After your training score debacle, I've decided to give up my plan of shielding you."

"From what?" I ask, chuckling like Haymitch said something very funny.

"The plan," he breathes. "I wasn't going to tell you who to team up with because I didn't want anyone to be implicated in case it fails. There's no point anymore. I can tell you two are unsatisfied with the limited amount of information I've given you, and you're not cowards. I know you can handle it," he hisses. "Sorry for thinking you couldn't. Just don't rat anyone out in case you're captured."

"How likely is that?" asks Peeta in a low voice.

"Not very likely so long as your trackers are cut out and you stay together," mouths Haymitch quickly. "Listen to me, we don't have much time, your prep teams will be coming soon. Beetee and Wiress. They're the key to getting out. There will be a spool of wire at the Cornucopa. It is absolutely vital that you get it. Do you understand? That wire will be key in blowing up the forcefield so we can get you out. Next of all. Finnick, Mags, and Johanna. Those are your allies, plus District Three. There are other tributes who know about the plan, but they've elected to stay on the outside of the alliance and try to keep you safe in anything bad happens."

"Seeder and Chaff?" I breathe.

"Yes," breathes Haymitch. "Seeder and Chaff will have their own alliance, because an alliance of half the tributes will raise suspicion. But they know the plan and they will be close enough to get picked up, if everything works out. Other tributes know, as well, such as the morphlings from Six, Blight from Seven, and Cecelia from Eight. Blight, if he manages to live, will also be picked up. Same goes for the others. It's doubtful they'll all be alive by the end, though." Haymitch's expression is one of genuine grief. It's easy for me to forget, in my stress, that these people have been his friends for years.

"Why doesn't Johanna want to stick with her district partner?" I ask, loud enough for the microphones to hear. I do it on purpose though, because I want them to think we're just talking about alliances while we wake ourselves up in the fresh morning air.

"Well, it won't seem that suspicious to the audience," hisses Haymitch, who obviously understood my question. "They've known for years that Johanna and Finnick have a close friendship. They'll expect those two to stick together."

"I guess, if she wants to be allies," Peeta cedes, speaking in a normal tone and volume. I know he's not pretending when he says, "I don't trust her, though. Or Finnick."

"It isn't about trust," says Haymitch, finally audible. "It's about staying alive." He pulls a flask out of his pocket and downs it in one, no doubt dreading the days to come. "In any case, we'll talk about it more tonight. I just wanted to let you know what your options are and get your final decision on allies."

"Yeah," I say slowly. "District Three, Johanna, Finnick, and Mags sounds good. Peeta?" I ask, turning to him.

"I agree with Katniss," Peeta says. "I don't necessarily trust them, especially Johanna and Finnick. But I trust your judgment, Haymitch."

"I'll let their mentors know," says Haymitch, an enigmatic look on his face. He looks down at his watch. "It's nearly prep time. I should go find the other mentors."

"Bye," I murmur. Peeta nods at him before turning to me.

"Are you okay with this?" asks Peeta. I hate having to put on a show for the microphones that are no doubt picking up our now audible conversation, but we do anyway.

"I suppose," I sigh. "If it helps us stay alive longer."

"I think it will," Peeta says, pulling me into his arms. "I love you," he whispers.

"Me, too," I breathe into the cold skin of his neck. "Do you think they heard Haymitch whispering?"

"No," Peeta breathes, releasing me. "I could barely hear it."

"Good," I nod. He takes my hand and we manage to get back to our room before our preps descend on us.

PB

"Have you gained weight?" Venia asks, her fingers flying to compensate for her two missing team members. Octavia and Flavius both had to leave because they were crying too hard. Cinna, as always, kept his word and talked to them about their theatrics. Thank God, because I wouldn't be able to stand it if I had to comfort them when I could very well be dead in a day. Venia, who has always been the strongest of the three, has the task of getting me ready all by herself.

"I think so," I answer, tilting my head back so she can curl a strand of my hair. "I don't pay much attention to what I look like." Venia sighs, because she knows all too well that I don't pay attention to my looks.

"You don't need to tell me that, Katniss," she groans. "I've already seen enough of your eyebrows to know that." I manage a laugh, because honestly, Venia is the most tolerable and least jaded of my prep team. She's kind and always good for a laugh, even though she's obviously upset about me going back into the arena.

But she powers through her emotions and manages to chat with me for the rest of my prep, her hands flying around my face to hurriedly do my makeup, quickly doing my hair. It isn't until Cinna comes in that she starts to lose her composure, her skin paling so much her gold tattoos seem to jump off her face. "We would like you to know what a privilege it has been making you look your best," she says, giving me one last watery smile before backing out of the room.

Cinna hugs me, pats my belly, and makes small talk about the baby as he makes some minor adjustments to my hair and makeup. Finally, he moves over to the garment bag and looks at me solemnly. "I don't want to upset you, Katniss," starts Cinna, "but this is what the president ordered. Our objections were ignored." When he unzips it, I lean back, startled.

"My wedding dress?" I ask, defiance jumping into my voice. I'm surprised when my eyes cloud over with tears. The dress is heavy white silk with a low neckline and tight waist and sleeves that fall from my wrists to the floor. And pearls. Everywhere pearls. Stitches into the dress and in ropes at my throat and forming the crown for the veil. I get up and rub a bit of the silk between my fingers, trying to figure out his reasoning. Peeta and I already got married, so he can't be doing this for the audience. No, I'm sure, he's doing it as a reminder to me that whatever happiness we've found in the last few months won't last. That at least one of us will die in the arena and we'll be torn from each other forever. I suppose since I was the greatest offender—marriage to Peeta and Snow's mollification notwithstanding, he couldn't contain the spark I created by pulling out those berries—my pain and loss and humiliation should be in the brightest spotlight. This, he thinks, will make that clear. It's so barbaric, the president turning my bridal gown—a reminder of one of the best decisions I've ever made—into my shroud, that the blow strikes home, leaving me with a dull ache inside. "I don't understand," I tell Cinna, not even bothering to lower my voice. "This will only upset the Capitol audience. I don't think they want to be reminded that there will be no more us, no more star-crossed lovers."

"You do understand," replies Cinna sharply. There is a look in his eyes that I recognize, only because I've seen it in the eyes of Peeta and Haymitch and Finnick and Gale—anger, defiance, and rebellion. He lowers his voice. "The audience cares about your love story, but as soon as the gong sounds, they'll forget about any loyalty they feel to you and be completely consumed with the carnage. You know this. He's trying to scare you."

"I know," I whisper. Hugging him, I lower my already quiet whisper to a tone that is nearly inaudible and say, "Will I see you in District 13?"

"Hopefully," he breathes into my ear before releasing me. He pulls the dress from the garment bag, and acting as if we weren't just talking about the most dangerous subject in Panem, helps me carefully into the gown. As it settles on my shoulders, they can't help giving a shrug of complaint. "I don't remember it being this heavy," I say suspiciously. It feels like it weight a ton. I also note that he's altered the dress slightly so my stomach isn't as noticeable. Not like it matters much anymore. They're going to figure out tonight.

"I had to make some slight alterations because of the lighting," he explains. I nod, but I can't see what that has to do with anything. "The lighting on stage is much different than the lighting at your wedding was." I nod again, letting him help me into the shoes, raising my face so he can brush more powder on my face, walking around a bit in the shoes.

"You're ravishing," he says. "Now, Katniss, because the bodice is so fitted, I don't want you raising your arms above your head. Well, not until you twirl, anyway." I nod, because when I wore this dress at my wedding, he told me the same thing. Minus the part about twirling.

"Will I be twirling again, then?"

"I'm sure Caesar will ask you. And if he doesn't, you suggest it yourself. Only not right away. Save it for your big finale," Cinna instructs me.

"You give me a signal so I know when," I say.

"All right," he sits down, patting me on the knee. "So I take it Peeta's announcing the pregnancy."

"Yeah," I say fighting the urge to kick these stupid heels off already. "He figures since he's going last, he'll be in the ideal position to light the fuse on the whole night, or so he says. In any case, he's better with words. I'm so terrified of this pregnancy I probably couldn't choke out the words," I say, half-joking.

"Don't be terrified," Cinna instructs. He puts his arm around my shoulders and grins. "You'll be a wonderful mother."

"That's what Peeta says," I sigh. "I'm still scared, though."

"I know," Cinna says, pulling me to my feet. He checks his watch, and tells me, "Come on. Time to go." We meet up with Effie, Haymitch, Portia, and Peeta at the elevator. Peeta's dressed in the same tuxedo he married me in. I straighten his tie and give him a small smile. Neither of us like being reminded that our lives together could be cut short.

When we get there, the other tributes have already gathered offstage and are talking softly, but when Peeta and I arrive, they fall silent. I realize everyone's staring daggers at my wedding dress. Are they jealous of its beauty? No, I feel more certain that they're jealous of the power it might have to manipulate the crowd.

Finally, Finnick says, "Well, that'll get them riled up."

"President Snow made me wear it," I deadpan. Finnick chuckles and walks closer to me. I stiffen a little, because even if I've grown closer to Finnick in the last few days, his blatant sexuality still unnerves me.

"See you tomorrow?" he asks, dropping his eyes seductively. I have to laugh, because all of this is just so ridiculous.

"Yeah," I say. "Bring Johanna."

When Cashmere sees me, she tosses her flowing blond curls back and spits out, "Well, you look ridiculous!" She grabs her brother's hand and pulls him into place to lead our procession onto the stage. The other tributes begin to line up as well. I'm confused because, while they are all angry, some are giving us sympathetic pats on the shoulder, and Johanna Mason actually stops to straighten my necklace. From the second she got naked in that elevator, I didn't like her much. But when she says, "Make him pay for it, okay?" I actually smile at her and think that maybe she isn't a bad person to have on my team.

It isn't until Cashmere gets on stage that I realize the depth of betrayal felt by the victors and the rage that comes along with it. They're so smart, though, so wonderfully smart about how they play it, because it all comes back to reflect on the government and President Snow in particular. I mean, not everyone does this. Brutus and Enobaria are old throwbacks who are just here for another Games, and there are others who are too drugged or drunk or otherwise incapacitated to join in the attack. But there are enough of us to still have the brains and the bravery to come out fighting.

Cashmere starts the ball rolling with a speech about how she just can't stop crying when she thinks of how much the people in the capitol must be suffering because they will lose us. Her brother discusses the kindness that they've shown to him and his sister. Beetee, in his quiet, twitchy, ultimately genius way, questions the legality of the Quell, wondering if it's been fully examined by experts of late. Finnick recites a poem that he's written for his one true love, which causes about a hundred women to faint because they sure he means them. But it's Johanna's interview that is the true spectacle.

"There have been lots of tears on this stage tonight, but I see no tears in Johanna's eyes. Johanna, you are angry," Caesar starts out playfully.

"Yes, I'm angry," she laughs cruelly. "You know, I'm getting totally screwed over here. The deal was that, if I win the Hunger Games, I get to live the rest of my life in peace." She looks directly into the camera, like she's talking to Snow. She chuckles again, but it's the mirthless, humorless chuckle of a person who's so angry they could scream. "Now, you want to kill me again. Well you know what? Fuck that!" she yells, cupping her hand around her mouth to make sure her words travel. "I fuck anyone that had anything to do with it!" She stomps angrily offstage and I have to grin, because I think maybe she's won me over.

Seeder, when it's her turn, quietly ruminates about how, back in Eleven, everyone assumes President Snow is all-powerful. So if he's all-powerful, why doesn't he change the Quell? And Chaff, who comes right on her heels, insists the president could change the Quell if he wanted to, but he must not think it matters much to anyone.

By the time I'm introduced, the audience is an absolute wreck. People have been weeping and collapsing and even calling for change. The sight of me in my white silk bridal gown practically causes a riot. No more me, no more Peeta, no more star-crossed lovers living happily ever after. Caesar tries to quiet him so I can speak, but my three minutes are quietly ticking away.

Finally, he gets out, "So, Katniss, obviously this is a very emotional night for everyone. Is there anything you'd like to say?"

My voice trembles as I speak, and I think that maybe, somewhere deep inside, I mean what I say. "Only that I'm so sorry that you won't be able to see Peeta and I's life together. We were so happy together, and we loved sharing our happiness with you. We'll miss you very much, but we're so glad that those of you who couldn't attend the wedding get to see me in my dress. Isn't it just the most beautiful thing?" I don't have to look at Cinna for a signal. I know this is the right time. I start to twirl, slowly, raising the sleeves of my heavy gown above my head. I hear screams from the crowd, and I'm sure it must be because I look beautiful. Then, I notice smoking rising up around me, and now the flicker stuff I wore last year, but something much more real that devours my dress. Cinna must be behind what is happening, so I try to stay calm as charred black bits of black silk swirl into the air and pearls clatter to the stage. For a split second I'm gasping, completely engulfed by the flames. I wonder, idly and stupidly, if I'm naked and why Cinna wanted to burn away my wedding dress.

But it isn't until I hear the thundering applause that I look down and ralize that I'm not naked. I'm in a dress of the exact design of my wedding dress, only it's the color of coal and made of tiny feathers. Wonderingly, I lift my long, flowing sleeves into the air, and that's when I see myself on the television screen. Clothed in black except for the white patches on my sleeves, or should I say my wings. Because Cinna has turned me into a Mockingjay.

"Feathers," says Caesar. "You're like—like a—you're like a—"

"Like a mockingjay," I say, my voice resonating around the audience. Suddenly, I am so afraid for Cinna, Cinna who told me that he always channels his emotions into his work, so that he doesn't hurt anyone but himself. Cinna, who did something terribly dangerous for _me_, knowing full well that he could be killed before our hovercraft takes us to District 13.

The audience's wild applause is too loud for me to hear the buzzer that indicates that my time is over, so Caesar thanks me and gestures to my seat. When I pass Peeta, we look at each other carefully. He nods at me, but I can tell he's nervous, which is odd. Peeta never gets nervous, not with his talent for manipulating words that can transform people.

Caesar and Peeta have been a natural team since his first interview, with their easy give and take, comic timing, and ability to segue into heart-wrenching moments. Peeta effortlessly opens with a few jokes about fires and overcooking poultry, but Caesar can see that Peeta is preoccupied.

"So, Peeta, what was it like for you, after all you and Katniss have been through, to find out about the Quell?"

"Well, I was in shock. Only days before I was watching Katniss walk down the aisle, looking so beautiful, and we were on our honeymoon, and then. . ." Peeta trails off.

"You realized that the happily ever after you'd been dreaming about your whole life was never going to happen?" asks Caesar gently, taking away the sting of his words.

"Yes," Peeta agrees, tearing up. Sometimes I am in awe of how wonderful he is at acting and manipulating people. "We were so happy, and it's so hard knowing that it'll never be like that again." Caesar pats Peeta on the knee to comfort him. "I wish we didn't get married so soon, we'd never have done it after we knew," says Peeta, starting to get upset. Not true, obviously, because we'd known about the Quell since February. Still, I watch him intently. Here it comes. "Who could've seen it coming? No one. We went through the Gams, we were victors, we fell in love and found the most wonderful life, and everyone seemed so thrilled to see us together, and then out of nowhere—I mean, how could we anticipate a thing like that?" As if our wedding date was our choice at all.

"You couldn't, Peeta," Caesar puts an arm around his shoulders. "As you say, no one could've, not even President Snow. But I have to confess, I'm glad you two had at least a few months of happiness together."

Enormous applause of course, and the camera pans to my face. I try to smile gratefully, but my body is tightly coiled, waiting for Peeta to drop the bomb.

"I'm not glad," says Peeta. "I wish we had waited for the announcement, so that none of this would've happened." His enigmatic words are so delicious to them, so alluring.

"Well, Peeta," Caesar says, taken aback. "Surely even a brief time is better than no time?"

"Maybe I'd think that, too, Caesar," says Peeta bitterly, shifting his eyes to mine in the crowd. I steel myself, force myself to hold back any tears that might surface when he says, "if it weren't for the baby."

Peeta's done it. He's lit the fuse on a bomb that the victors themselves have been building, hoping and waiting that someone would be able to detonate it. As it explodes, it sends accusations of injustice and barbarism and cruelty flying out in every direction. Even the most Capitol-loving, Games-hungry, bloodthirsty person out there can't ignore how horrific the whole thing is.

And neither can I. Even if we survive, my baby will be inside of me while I kill people, while I fight to survive, while Peeta and I's lives are in jeopardy every day. Subconsciously, my hand drops to my middle as if to say, _it'll be okay, little Rue. Your parents will get you out of there, safe and sound. _This gesture, caught on camera, only makes it worse. Caesar can't rein in the crowd again, not even when the buzzer sounds. Peeta nods his goodbye and comes back to his seat. I can see Caesar's lips moving but the place is in total chaos and I can't hear a word. Only the blast of the anthem, cranked up so loud I can feel it vibrating in my bones, lets us know where we stand in the program. I automatically rise, and as I do, sense Peeta reaching out for me, like we're two halves of the same being. Tears are running down his face, and I have to wonder if the tears are real or fake. He's just as scared of being a parent as I am, terrified of loving her so much just to have her snatched away from us, but he's also happy. I can't decide if they're real or fake, but I take Peeta into my arms quickly, and kiss him hard on the cheek.

"I love you," he reminds me.

I look back to the crowd, but the faces of Rue's mother and father swim before my eyes. Their sorry and their loss. I turn spontaneously to Chaff and offer my hand. I feel my fingers close around the stump that now completes his arm and hold fast. And it happens. Up and down the row, the victors begin to join hands. Some right away—the morphlings, Wiress, Beetee, and Johanna—others unsure but caught up in the demands of everyone around them, like Brutus and Enobaria and Cashmere. By the time the anthem plays its final notes, though, all twenty-four of us stand in one unbroken line in what must be the first public show of unity since the Dark Days. We raise our hands above our heads and the screen cuts to black, because they've finally realized what a rebellious thing we've done. Everyone has seen, though, because in the confusion, they didn't cut us off in time.

When we finally get to our suite, Peeta and I sit nervously on the couch, hands woven tightly together. We're waiting for Haymitch, who is supposed to bring us news of the crowd and what they're asking for. I know they won't cancel the Games, I know they won't, I tell myself. But wasn't it smart of us to try? Wasn't it? Or will it only make Snow target us more in the arena? I go back and forth, round and round, until Haymitch and Effie come through the elevator doors.

"Games are still on," Haymitch says immediately. "Not for a lack of trying though," he adds in a softer tone. They come over and Effie, tearfully, hands Peeta and Haymitch the gold tokens that she got them.

Peeta's is a golden, circular necklace, and Haymitch's is some golden bangle that he looks less than thrilled about. But he doesn't say anything, because Effie glancing from Peeta, to me, to my stomach with tears in her eyes.

"Thank you, Effie," Peeta says softly.

"We're a team, aren't we?" she chokes out. I nod at her, trying not to get emotional myself. Unless Plutarch takes her with us to Thirteen, we will never see her again. "And I'm so proud of my two victors," she says, hugging Peeta and me. "So proud. You're so—" she begins, and her face crumples. Tears start to fall out of her eyes as she says, "You both deserved so much better. I am truly sorry," she says, and her voice shakes. After a moment, she tries to compose herself, but can't and she leaves.

So we three stand looking at each other, unsure of what we're supposed to say. Goodbye? See you soon? Thank you for being my surrogate father? For always watching out for us?

Finally, Haymitch says, "Stay alive. Keep her safe." It isn't until he hugs me tightly that I realize that he wasn't talking about me; he was talking about little Rue, safe for the moment, inside my womb.

"I will," Peeta and I say at the same time. We look at each other, a ridiculous urge to laugh bubbling up in my throat. But I don't, because even with our contingency plans in place, this could very well be the last time we see Haymitch.

"Thank you," I whisper to him. "For everything. See you soon."

He whispers back, "Just in case things get tense at the end, remember who the real enemy is."

I nod at him, wondering why he thinks I'd ever forget. I can hardly bear it when he turns away from us, and Peeta looks at his shoes.

"See you, grandpa," he suddenly calls out to Haymitch, who stops in his tracks and turns around.

Smile on his face, he says, "Don't call me that."


	25. Chapter 25

**Just a quick reminder: this content belongs to Suzanne Collins, not me! Also, I'm going to be skipping around a bit during the actual Games, because it would be tedious for me to rewrite the entire Games when much of it is going to be the same. It's safe to assume, then, if I leave any of the Games out, it happened exactly like it did in the book. I love you all! Leave me some reviews if you have any questions or suggestions.**

The Peacekeepers leave Cinna's limp body, bloody and beaten, on the floor of my launch room. After several blows to the temple, he's completely motionless on the ground. They don't take him with, though, and maybe that's a good sign. But it doesn't stop the screams coming from my mouth, doesn't stop me getting sick all over the glass cylinder that surrounds me, doesn't stop me pounding on the glass trying to get to him. Terrified, the plate finally begins to rise, and I realize that Snow has only done this to unhinge me—certainly he knows the significance of my fiery transformation, but it seems he doesn't care enough about Cinna to take him into custody—and it has. I'm still hyperventilating as the plate rises, and I force myself to straighten up just as the breeze in the arena begins to ruffle my hair.

Something seems to be wrong with my vision, though; the ground is much too bright and is rippling. I squint down at my feet and see that my metal plate is surrounded by blue waves that lap up over my boots. Slowly, I raise my eyes and take in the water spreading out in every direction. I can only form one clear thought.

This is no place for a girl on fire.

"Ladies and gentlemen, let the Seventy-fifth Hunger Games begin!" The voice of Claudius Templesmith reverberates in my head, and I have less than a minute to get my bearings. After that, the tributes will be able to move off their plates. But to where?

Cinna's limp, bloody body is the only thing I can think about, which is really unfortunate because I'm now locked in arena with people who will try to kill me. All I want to do is collapse on my metal plate, but I must be wrong. For Peeta, and for Rue. I owe it to Cinna, at the very least, who risked everything by undermining the president. After that many hits to the head, is he even alive? What if they come back for him?

_Where are you?_ I can still make no sense of my surroundings. I force myself to look around again. _Where are you?! _Slowly, the world begins to come into focus. There's blue water all around me, and the sky is a sickening pink color. The sun is white hot as it bears down us, and the Cornucopia is only about forty yards away. The problem with this is that it's sitting on a small island, and thin strips of land radiate from the island like spokes on a wheel. There have to be twelve, one for every two tributes. Between the spokes is all water. The tribute in my wedge is the deaf old man from 8, Woof.

I look around the circle of tributes, searching desperately for Peeta, but I can't find him. He must be on the other side of the Cornucopia. Finnick, however, I do find. He meets my eyes and nods at me, slowly, like he thinks I might not get it. But I do. When the water washes in on my plate, I catch some and touch the tip of my wet finger to my tongue. Salt water. Of course, the Gamemakers wouldn't give us a readily available source of water. At least it seems clean.

Because there are no boats, ropes, or even debris to cling to, there's only one way to get to the Corncucopia. When the gong sounds, I don't even hesitate before I dive to my life. It's a longer distance than I'm used to, and navigating the waves takes a little more skill than swimming across my quiet lake at home, but my body seems oddly light and I cut through the water effortlessly. Maybe because of the salt. I thank my father over and over again in my mind for teaching me to swim. When I pull myself up on the sandy strip of land, dripping, I can see no one else converging on the Cornucopia from my side of the horn. So I sprint to the Cornucopia without thinking of my enemies, determined to get my hands on the silver bow laying at the mouth of the horn. It's different than last year; last year there were supplies spread out quite a distance from the Cornucopia. This year, however, they're all piled high in the mouth of the born. Finally reaching the Cornucopia, I yank the silver bow free just in time to spin around and point it at someone who snuck up on me.

I lower it immediately. "Finnick," I say, grinning at him. "You must love the arena."

"I do," he says, pulling a long golden trident from the pile of weapons. "Where did you learn that in District 12?"

"We have a big bathtub," I answer. He grins at me before I yell at him to duck and I shoot an arrow directly into the heart of the man from District 5, the guy who puked on the sword-fighting floor of the Training Center. He straightens up after a moment, and I say, "They must've built the arena just for you."

It was true. Either you came in here a swimmer, or you'd better be a really fast learner. Even participation in the initial bloodbath depends on being able to cover twenty yards of water. That gives District 4 an enormous advantage.

We each take a side and see that some of the Careers are just reaching the strips of sand, so Finnick and I quickly go over the pile of weapons in the Cornucopia. I realize that there are no packs, no food, no water—just weapons. So Finnick and I grab what we need—him taking three tridents, an axe for Johanna, Beetee's spool of wire, me two bows and two quivers of arrows, a few long knives, and an awl—and get ready to clear out to find the rest of our allies. I get an arrow into Gloss's thigh, and almost kill Brutus, but he uses his purple belt to block the arrow.

"Peeta," I gasp, as Brutus rolls into the water. "I need to get Peeta."

"Right," Finnick agrees brusquely. "And we need to find everyone else, too."

But when we look around, we can't find Johanna or District Three. Only Mags, who's bobbing along in the water, and Peeta, who's stranded on his plate. I breathe a sigh of relief I hadn't even realized I was holding in when I see him. Back in the arena, in the place of nightmares, where I will never stop being afraid for his life.

"I'll get him," says Finnick, after scooping Mags up from the water.

"No, I can," I say.

"Better not exert yourself," he says, patting my abdomen. I grimace. "Not in your condition." I roll my eyes at him, because I'm pregnant, not disabled. But he disappears into the water with a flawless dive, and I raise my bow, looking around for adversaries. No one seems interested in pursuing us, so we run into the jungle in search of our allies.

PB

"I hope Johanna got them out," I say absentmindedly, laying on the jungle floor trying to catch my breath. "I really wanted them as allies."

"I guess," Finnick says, disinterested. He's picking at his fingernails, so I look over at Peeta. Sweat is running down his face, and I can tell he's exhausted. When he catches me studying him, he smiles.

"We need to find fresh water," he says. "The baby is probably dying of thirst." A panicked look must come on my face, because Peeta holds his hands up like he's trying to calm me down. "Katniss, I was exaggerating, she's fine. I'm sure she's fine. Haymitch wouldn't let either of you die of thirst."

After a moment, I calm down, but it's still so unfair, I realize, that I have to subject my child to the arena. She probably is thirsty. I rub my belly, hoping some sympathetic woman will send us water. Nothing happens though, so I stand up and tell the others I'm going to climb a tree. As soon as I do, I wish that I hadn't. Around the Cornucopia, the ground appears to be bleeding; the water has purple stains. Bodies lie on the ground and float in the sea, but at this distance, with everyone dressed exactly the same, I can't tell who lives or dies. All I can tell is that some of the tiny blue figures still battle. Well, what did I think? That the victors' chain of locked hands last night would result in some sort of universal truce in the arena? No, I never believed that. Maybe I just hoped that people would show some restraint. A little reluctance, even. Before they jumped right into massacre mode. _And you all knew each other,_ I think. _You were all friends._

As soon as I get down, I avoid everyone's eyes, not wanting to let them know how much this upsets me. "Katniss," Finnick begins. "No one in this arena was a victor by chance. You have to remember that."

I know then that Finnick knows that Peeta is truly, deep-down better than the rest of us. I killed that tribute from 5 without even thinking about it. Finnick killed, like, twelve people in his own Games. Peeta, at least, would've tried to negotiate a wider alliance. Finnick is right. None of us were crowned for our compassion. Only Peeta.

"Let's just go," I sigh. "We need water."

Everyone else agrees, and Peeta takes the lead. For a while, we walk in silence, Peeta slashing through vines with his long knife. Eventually though, Finnick speaks up and asks, "So you're really going to have a kid."

"If I make it out of here," I say carefully, moving my eyes to his sweaty, beautiful face to let him know not to broach the topic. "I don't want children without Peeta, though. If he dies, I don't want to come out of here." It's probably true, though. I never wanted children, and the only reason I've come around to it because he wants her so badly. He's convinced me that we'll be good parents, that it's nothing to be afraid of. I don't want to be a parent without him there.

"And it's a girl?" he asks, adjusting Mags over his shoulder. I flash my eyes up to where Peeta is still cutting down vines.

"Peeta thinks so. So do my mom and Haymitch," I answer, a small smile managing to appear on my face. Even though I don't know Finnick that well, but inexplicably, I trust him. He's a member of our rebel plan, and he's proven himself in the last few days. And in case Peeta and I die, I want someone to be able to remember our daughter's name. So I tell him, "We're going to name her Rue."

He doesn't answer right away. Just keeps walking. Eventually, he flashes a smile back to me and says, "She would've really loved that, Katniss."

It's my turn not to say anything, just because I don't want to talk about Rue. Not here, not with everyone watching. Rue, who was too young and too gentle for the Games. Rue, who died in my arms. Rue, whose spirit is going to live on in my child.

But I also don't speak because something catches my eye. We're walking up a hill of some sort, and I can see the end of the tree line. Before I can even start wondering what's on the other side, I see a funny, rippling square hanging like a warped pane of glass in the air. At first, I think it's the glare from the sun or maybe the heat shimmering up off the ground. But it's fixed in space, not shifting when I move. And that's when I connect the square with Wiress and Beetee in the Training Center and realize what lies before us. My warning cry is just reaching my lips when Peeta's knife swings out to slash away some vines.

There's a sharp zapping sound. For an instant, the trees are gonad n I see open space over a short stretch of bare earth. Then Peeta's flung back from the force field, bringing Finnick and Mags to the ground.

I rush over to where he lies, motionless in a web of vines. "Peeta?" There's a fain smell of singed hair. I call him name again, giving him a little shake, but he's unresponsive. My fingers fumble across his lips where there's no warm breath, although moments ago he was panting. I press my ear against his chest, to the spot where I always rest my head, where I know I will hear the strong and steady beat of his heart.

Instead, I find silence.

"He's not breathing!" I scream, slapping his face, shaking him, but it's no use. "Peeta! Peeta!" I don't care that we're in an arena and my screams could bring enemies to us, because I want to lie down and die next to him. "Peeta, Peeta, no," I sob.

Finnick props Mags against a trees and pushes me out of the way. "Let me." His fingers probe points at Peeta's neck, then he pinches Peeta's nostrils shut.

"No!" I scream, because Finnick is supposed to be my ally, he's supposed to be my friend. But instead, he's making absolute certain that Peeta's dead. My sobs are so loud now, someone could hear them from miles away. I don't care. I don't care about any of this. I'll kill Finnick and I'll kill anyone I see, because I will not leave this arena without Peeta. Plutarch and Haymitch and District Thirteen be damned. I don't want to be anyone's Mockingjay without Peeta. So I pull an arrow, whip the notch into place, and am about to let it fly when I'm stopped by the sight of Finnick kissing Peeta. It's so strange, even for Finnick, that I don't shoot.

Eventually, the pieces come together in my mind. He's trying to restart Peeta's heart. So I crawl over to his side, touching Peeta's face, sobbing, "Peeta, Peeta, please. Don't leave me here, don't leave me." Finnick continues to pump over where his heart is and I'm sobbing and choking and desperately, I pull his limp hand and set it against my abdomen. "Peeta, don't leave us, don't leave me. I need you," I'm sobbing. "Please wake up." Agonizing seconds drift by slowly, so slowly, and I'm sure he's dead, sure he's moved on, stolen from me forever, when he gives a small cough.

"Peeta!" I gasp, moving in closer to him to touch his face. "Peeta, you were dead," I sob. "Your heart stopped, you were dead."

His eyelashes flutter open and his eyes meet mine. "Careful," he says weakly. "There's a force field up ahead." I manage a small, strangled sounding laugh, but tears are running down my cheeks. I kiss him then, tears and sweat mingling with my saliva, so glad that he's still alive, so grateful that he's still with me.

"You were dead! Your heart stopped!" I burst out, still hysterical.

"It's working now," he says, and he pulls me down to him.

"Do you want to stand up?" I choke out. He nods and I pull him to his feet, and hug him so fiercely that I can barely breathe, but I don't care, I don't care, I don't care, because I don't need to breathe if he stays with me. My relief that he's still alive is so overwhelming that it brings on a new round of ugly, choking sobs.

When he finally releases me, he weakly touches my lips with his thumb. "You can't," I cry, "You can't die, you can't leave me." He stays silent, still looking at my face like he's thanking God that I'm here in front of him. I look at Finnick—who isn't looking at us sarcastically, but with a quizzical expression on his face, like he's trying to figure something out—because I have no one to thank but him. Finnick kept him alive when I couldn't, and now I'll never stop owing him for that. Never. I think I startle both him and Peeta when I run over to Finnick and hug him. "Thank you," I say quietly. "Thank you for saving him."

Finnick hugs me back lightly then pats me awkwardly on the head. "It's fine, Katniss. He's fine."

"Thanks to you," I say, stepping away from him. Mags hands me some soft moss to blow my nose on, and I'm too much of a mess to even question it. I want to say something else, but I've exhausted my ability to communicate. Since I woke up this morning, I've watched Cinna beaten to a pulp, landed in another arena, and seen Peeta die. I try to pull myself together.

"I don't think we can make camp here," Peeta says. "We have no water, no protection. If we go slowly, I think I'll be alright."

So we move carefully through the jungle, and I throw nuts at the force field so no one else runs into it and dies. I cringe, and look at Peeta. He's sweating a lot, even if Finnick made him a walking stick to help him along, and I think despite his protestations, all he really wants to do is lie down. When we lie down and eventually make camp, I take the first watch because Finnick is exhausted from carrying Mags all day, and Peeta's exhausted from dying.

He lies down next to me, and I position myself so I can look at his face while he sleeps. My eyes constantly move from him to the jungle back to him. As he sleeps, I brush his sweaty hair back from his face and kiss his temple occasionally. I almost lost him today. The only person I've ever loved—with the obvious exception of my family—was almost taken from me. My hand still on Peeta's face, I look over at Finnick, and whisper, "Thank you." Of course he's still asleep, but it makes my blood run cold to think of what would've happened today if Finnick wasn't here. I owe him everything.

I look back down at Peeta and murmur, "I love you," because I, too, owe him everything.


	26. Chapter 26

**Just a quick reminder: this content belongs to Suzanne Collins, not me! Also, I'm going to be skipping around a bit during the actual Games, because it would be tedious for me to rewrite the entire Games when much of it is going to be the same. It's safe to assume, then, if I leave any of the Games out, it happened exactly like it did in the book. I love you all! Leave me some reviews if you have any questions or suggestions.**

"Johanna!" I yell, startling Peeta and Finnick out of the fitful sleep they'd just fallen into.

"Katniss," I hear her scream back. She and the two people with her—Wiress and Beetee, I think—are brick red, like they've been dipped in paint and left to dry. She's swearing at one of them, who's walking around in loopy circles, and the other one is trying to clean his glasses off. Before the others wake up, I run over to her and hug her quickly before she brushes me off. "What happened?"

"After the lightning, it started to rain. And we thought it was actual rain, because of the lightning, and we were all so thirsty. But when it started coming down, it turned out to be blood. Thick, hot blood. You couldn't see or speak without getting a mouthful. We just wandered around, blind, trying to find our way out of it. Blight hit the force field."

"I'm sorry, Johanna," I say, glancing back at Peeta and Finnick, who are making their way over to us. "We lost Mags."

"What?" she snaps, her eyes widening. "No. She practically raised Finnick. How?"

"Poisonous fog. It blistered our skin and made our nerves stop working. Peeta's legs wouldn't work, so Finnick carried him and I carried Mags. Then my legs stopped working, and Finnick couldn't take them both. So she walked straight into the fog," I explain.

She shoots me a glare and says, "She was basically his family." I look down at my feet for a moment, because I should've tried harder to save her, but she says with an annoyed sigh, "Katniss, don't be stupid. It wasn't your fault." Before I say anything though, she shushes me and starts talking to Finnick about the blood rain.

"Tick, tock," Wiress says, her eyes vacant and mad. "Tick, tock."

"What's wrong with her?" Peeta asks Johanna. Johanna rolls her eyes and

"Tick, tock, Nuts is in shock," says Johanna. This seems to draw Wiress in her direction and she careens into Johanna, who harshly shoves her to the ground. "Just stay down, will you?"

"Lay off her," I snap. She glares daggers at me, but doesn't say anything else. I glare back at her, daring her to do something. She doesn't, though. Just rolls her eyes at me and goes to wash the blood out of her jumpsuit and off of her skin. Peeta lifts Beetee up in his arms and I take Wiress by the hand and we go back to our little beach camp. Sitting Wiress in the shallows, I manage to wash her and Beetee's jumpsuits clean of any blood.

"How'd you get out?" Peeta asks Johanna.

"I knew there was no way we'd get in there and get our weapons without being hacked up by the Careers," Johanna says scornfully. "Even if you did get there first. I'm not good enough at swimming to get there as quickly as you guys did. So I decided to grab them and run. We knew we'd find you eventually." She takes an enormous drink of water from the shell that Finnick filled for her and closes her eyes, like it's the best thing she's ever tasted. "Speaking of. Did you get any weapons for me?" I walk out of the water and grab an axe that we, miraculously, manage to save while we were running from the fog, and toss it to her. She raises her eyebrows at me, and I nod subtly to the coil of wire sitting in the sand. She breathes a visible sigh of relief.

"Tick, tock," Wiress whispers, as the lightning hits the tree again. She looks up at me, that mad look in her eye. But there's something else there, too. Understanding. I think of the twelve bongs last night, the ones that woke me up. I thought it was for the number of districts, but as Wiress keeps saying 'tick tock,' something else occurs to me. I stand up and look at the arena. The lightning there. In the next wedge over came the blood rain. We would've been in the next section over when the fog started. Then in the fourth when the monkeys came out to play. Tick, tock. A couple of hours ago, at ten, a wave came out of the second section to the left of where the lightning strikes now. The same lightning that hit at midnight. At noon. At midnight. "Tick, tock." Wiress says again, and it suddenly makes sense.

"Oh," I breathe. My eyes sweep around the full circle of the arena. "Tick, tock. This is a clock."

PB

While Peeta and Finnick shuck oysters, I sit in the sand next to Johanna and feel guilty. After we discovered that the arena was a clock, we moved to the Cornucopia to get a better look at things. That's where Wiress was killed by Gloss. That's where I shot an arrow into Gloss's head. That's where Johanna's axe ripped Cashmere's chest open. That's where we almost lost the wire that will get us out of here.

"Stop," Johanna snaps. "There's no use feeling guilty about it. It's the Hunger Games."

"I'm the only one whose district partner is still alive," I say, my eyes clinging to Peeta's form, only a few yards away. "I feel like it's my fault."

"You really need to stop," says Johanna, her voice annoyed. "That kind of thinking is pointless in here." I know she's right, but it's still hard to shake.

I change the subject. "Your interview with Caesar was really something," I say, forcing my voice to be light and amused. I'm surprised when Johanna chuckles. It might be hard and scornful, but it's still a laugh.

"It was, wasn't it," says Johanna. She's quiet for a minute, but she asks, "So you're really pregnant?"

"Yeah," I sigh. I try not to think about it too much, because even this early, it's unfair for little Rue to have parents that can't protect her.

"That sucks," she replies. I look at her and I actually laugh. It starts out small, but grows until we're both rolling around on the ground, laughing so hard we can't breathe. No one—no one at all—has said anything other than 'congratulations' to Peeta and me since we found out, until now. And it does suck that I'm pregnant. It does. With everything that's happening—the Quell, the breakout, the potential war—I couldn't have picked a worse time to have a child. Not that we picked this. We were just stupid and careless. "God, you really are brainless." I laugh a little bit more and eventually we fall into silence. Finnick and Peeta come over after a while, and ask what we were laughing about. Both of us, hurriedly, make sure to tell them that it was nothing.

"Well, it must be monkey hour," Peeta says, changing the subject and looking into the jungle. "I don't see any of them in there. I'm going to try to tap a tree."

"No, it's my turn," says Finnick.

"I'll at least watch your back," Peeta says.

"Katniss can do that," chimes in Johanna. "We need you to make another map. The other one washed away."

If I didn't trust them—and I do, for reasons both obvious and unfathomable—I would be suspicious about why they're trying to split us up. But we're on the same side. So I kiss Peeta lightly and tell him that I'll be back soon. I nod at Finnick and follow him about fifteen yards into the jungle, where he finds a good tree and starts stabbing to make the hole for the spile.

I stand guard, bow raised, and think about why it is that I actually _do_ trust Johanna. Maybe it's because she was completely unafraid of screaming her mind to the entire country. Maybe it's because she told me to make Snow pay for it. Maybe it's because she actually did get Wiress and Beetee away from the Cornucopia, even if she had no love for them. Maybe it's because she told me that it really sucks that I'm pregnant. But I think it's a combination of all of it, and I think maybe it's because she reminds me a little bit of myself, of who I would be if I didn't have my family to protect.

"Katniss, got that spile?" Finnick asks, snapping me back to rality. I cut the vine that ties the spile to my belt and hold the metal tube out to him.

That's when I hear the scream. So full of fear and pain it ices my blood. And so familiar. I drop the spile, forget where I am or what lies ahead, only know that I must reach her and protect her. I run wildly in the direction of the voice, not caring about any danger, ripping through the jungle, ripping through the things that keeps me from reaching my little sister.

"Prim!" I cry out. "Prim!" _What are they doing to her?_ I scream out her name again, over and over, and she screams back. The jungle trips me and cuts me, but I've almost reached her, almost found her when she screams again. The sound is directly above me, and when my head whips around, my eyes fall on a small, crested black bird perches on a branch about ten feet over my head.

A jabberjay. I've never seen one, because they went extinct in the wild after the Dark Days. It has the ability to copy human conversations, human voices. I stare at it in revulsion before I take it down with an arrow, break its neck, and throw it into the jungle. When Finnick finds me, I'm cleaning the arrow off with some moss. "Katniss?"

"I'm okay," I say quietly. "It wasn't really her, it was a—" my voice is cut off by another piercing shriek, a woman's this time. I don't recognize it. Actually, I decide after a second of indecision, I do. Not because I've ever heard the voice in person, but because the voice haunted my dreams just a few nights ago, seemingly dredged up through years of unconscious memory. I know what name Finnick is going to scream before he even opens his mouth.

"Annie!" The color has vanished from his face and I can actually see the pupils dilate in his face. I try to reassure him, but he's already ran away, gone off to find her. So I follow him, running in his wake for nearly a quarter mile, where he's circling around a tree, screaming, "Annie! Annie!"

I don't say anything to him, mostly because I know he won't listen. Just like I wouldn't listen when I took off after Prim in the jungle. So I shoot the jabberjay out of the tree and he turns to me, white-faced.

"It's alright, Finnick. It's just a jabberjay," I say. "It's not real. It's not your. . .Annie."

"No, it's not Annie. But the voice was hers. Jabberjays copy," he says, his voice quiet but so distinct I couldn't have missed them if I tried. "Where did they get those screams, Katniss?" I can feel the blood drain out of my own face as I realize the implications of what he's saying. Prim, in a white room, being tortured. White robed figures trying to elicit those sounds from her.

"No," I whisper. Before I can say anything else, I hear Peeta screaming my name. Nothing else would've moved me—or Finnick—from this spot, huddled and shaken, on the jungle floor. But Peeta's scream has to be real—it has to be real—because he's in the arena with me. He's here. Brutus and Enobaria are probably killing him as we speak. So I take off, running so quickly the trees blur past me. Or that could be my tears. I scream his name back, wondering why they want to take him from me so badly. First the force field. Now this. "Peeta!" I scream, tearing through vines and moss and damp forest floor. Finnick is right behind me, because the mutts sound like Johanna now, too. We run so far, so quickly, that we forget that this arena is a clock. We forget that we must be contained inside this hell for an hour before they go away. But that doesn't matter, because Peeta is being killed and I have to reach him, I have to—

_Wham._ The wall is so transparent, Finnick and I run smack into it and bounce back onto the jungle floor. We were so focused on reaching them, we had tunnel vision. Peeta and Johanna are in front of us, waving their arms and yelling, but we can't hear them. Beetee shakes his head sadly behind them. Peeta starts trying to break the wall with his knife, and Johanna is furiously slamming her axe into us. But nothing works. Relief floods into my body, because Peeta's alive, Peeta's well—but only for a split second. Because Gale starts screaming for me. Then my mother. Then Madge. Everyone else I've ever cared about is screaming for me, and I'm screaming, too, because I can't help them, I've killed them, I've killed them.

Finnick and I are both hunched over, trying to put our hands over our ears. But neither of us can ignore the screams. So Peeta presses his hand against the surface and I put my own up to meet it, as if I can feel him through the wall. I see his lips moving, but I can't hear him, can't hear anything outside our wedge. I try to make out what he's saying, but I can't focus, so I just stare at his face, doing my best to hang onto my sanity. Eventually, though, I curl up next to Finnick on the ground, trying to block out the excruciating sounds, the chorus of horror, of Prim, Gale, my mother, Madge, Rory, Vick, even Posy, tiny little Posy. . .

I know it's over when I feel Peeta's hands on me. I start a little bit, but let him lift me from the ground, his hands under my armpits like a toddler. I wrap my legs around his waist, but I can't bring myself to do more than that. When we finally reach the sand, he doesn't move me. Just sits down with me cradled in his lap like a baby. He holds me, speaking soothing words, rocking me gently. It takes a long time before I relax the iron grip on my body. That's when I start shaking.

"It's alright, sweetheart," murmurs Peeta.

"You-you-you-didn't hear them," I choke out. "Prim and you and my mother and _everyone."_

" I hear Prim, right in the beginning. But it wasn't her, it wasn't any of us. It was a jabberjay," he says.

"No," I say flatly. "They're torturing her. She's probably dead. They're all dead."

"Katniss," croons Peeta, still rocking me like he will rock our child when she's born. "How am I alive, then?" This stops me short, because it doesn't make sense. I've never actually heard Peeta scream like that, like he's being tortured. We've yelled at each other when we were fighting, but they couldn't have taken real screams from him. Peeta doesn't scream. But he can tell I'm not totally convinced. "Katniss, Prim isn't dead. How could they kill her? We're almost down to the final eight. What happens in the final eight?"

"Seven more of us die?" I ask hopelessly. Vaguely, I register Johanna laughing in the background.

"No, back home. What happens when they reach the final tributes in the Games?" He lifts my chin so I have to look at him. Forces me to make eye contact. "What happens?"

I know he's trying to help me, so I force myself to think. "They interview your family and friends back home."

"That's right," soothes Peeta in that nurturing voice of his. "Now, they can't interview your family and friends if they're all dead. Can they?" I shake my head at him, still unsure. I want to believe him, I do. But Peeta would say anything to make me feel better, he would say anything to give me the courage to get out of here alive. So I look at Beetee. Finnick opens his mouth first, though.

"Can they do that, Beetee? Take someone's regular voice and make it. . . ?"

"Oh yes. It's not even that difficult. We teach our children a similar technique in school," Beetee says, not unkindly.

Again, it's Johanna that actually puts my mind at ease. "Your husband's right," she scoffs. "The whole country adores your little sister. If they really killed her like this, forget the districts. There would be riots in the damn Capitol," her voice low and deadly. Suddenly, she looks at the sky and screams, "Don't want that, do they? Wouldn't want anything like that! How would you like it if we set _your_ backyard on fire, Snow? You know, you can't put everybody in here!" she screams.

My mouth drops open, because no one ever says anything like this in the Games or about the Games. I'm sure they've cut away from Johanna and are editing her out. But _I've _heard her, and all of my instincts about her were correct. She'll never win any awards for kindness, but she's brave. And trustworthy.

"I'll go get you some water," she tells me. I grab her hand like I'm going to stop her, but she jerks it away. I know the birds are gone, but I don't want her going in there. "They can't hurt me. I'm not like the rest of you. There's no one left that I love." When she brings me back a shell of water, and I take it with a silent nod of thanks, knowing that she would snap if she heard the pity in my voice.

I already know the answer when I ask her this, but I do anyway. "Who's Annie?"

She looks at me for a while, an indecipherable look on her face. Then she says, "Annie Cresta, the girl Mags volunteered for. She won the Games four-no, five years ago."

"Is she the one that went a little. . ." I make a twisting motion with my forefinger by my head. Johanna laughs.

"Yeah," replies Johanna. "Went mad when her district partner—and boyfriend—got beheaded. Ran off by herself and hid until the earthquake broke a dam and most of the arena flooded. She won because she was the best swimmer." I already know all of this, but I nod my head. So that's who Finnick loves. Not his string of Capitol lovers, but a poor, mad girl from District 4. I still shudder when I think of her, not because I have anything against her personally. It just brings back the memory of that dream. Her curly dark hair bobbing in the water, her beautiful, caramel colored face breaking into an insane smile while she held Peeta's head above the water. Johanna cuts into my thoughts when she says, "That was the year before I won."

"Let's change the subject," I suggest. I don't want to think about Annie Cresta or Johanna's Games. We're quiet for a long time. We both drink our fill of water and sit in comfortable silence.

"Can I ask you something?" Johanna asks.

"You just did," I say back.

"Ha ha," mocks Johanna, rolling her eyes. "Do you really love him?" I study the lines of Johanna's face and am curious about her question. Even if I didn't, she'd have to know that I'd say yes, because the entire country is watching. So I opt for sarcasm.

"How else do you think I got pregnant?" I say, smirking. She smacks my arm, not quite playfully, but not hard enough to hurt.

"I'm serious, Katniss," she says back.

I sigh. "When he hit the force field and died—you don't have to act surprised, I know Finnick told you—I wanted to lie down and die next to him. Does that answer your question?"

"I suppose," she says, hitting her axe against her shoe. I know she's talking for the benefit of the cameras when she says, "This must be hell for you. Having to decide between Peeta and your kid."

"It is," I sigh. "I don't want to be a parent without him. I don't want to live in a world where he doesn't exist. I don't know what to do."

"That sucks," she says again, flatly. I look at her and that ridiculous, stupid laughter bubbles up again. She laughs first, and it makes me laugh, too.

"It's safe to say that all of this sucks," I laugh, grabbing the stitches in my sides. Her laughter dies down though, when she sees me touch my abdomen.

"Would it be weird if I asked to touch it?" she asks, her usually fierce demeanor suddenly quiet and almost childlike. I look at her like she's grown two heads. Maybe she's doing this for the benefit of the camera, but it doesn't look like it.

"Yeah, it'd be weird," I say to her, but I add, "Sure, Johanna, go ahead." I lean back in the sand and study my swollen stomach. It juts out far enough to be noticeable in this tight jumpsuit, but the growth isn't unflattering. She reaches her hand forward tentatively, and she lightly rests her hand on the fullest part of my stomach.

"It's hard," she says.

"Yep," I reply. I tuck my hands behind my head.

"Does it move?" she asks, still resting her hand on my belly.

"She does," I reply, leaning up on my elbows to look at Johanna. She looks soft, timid, and curious. "Not very much, but enough for Peeta to feel her moving." I grin at her, because I've just remembered something. "Did you know Peeta wanted to name her Johanna?"

The soft expression leaves her face at once. "You're joking."

"I'm not," I laugh. "He told me a couple of night ago, after you undressed for us in the elevator."

"I was just trying to get a rise out of you," she shoot back.

"It worked. Anyway, he said he liked the way your name sounded, because we don't have named like that in Twelve. We decided against it, though," I explain. It makes me distinctly uncomfortable to talk about the baby with all of Panem watching, but I try to ignore it. I'm sure I'm winning the sympathy of every man, woman, and child in the Capitol right now.

"What did you decide, then?" she asks, hitting her axe into the sand by our feet.

"Rue," I breathe, the name still hurting me to say. "If it's a girl." I look up at the sky, because somehow, I know that this will not be lost on those in the districts, those who are already fighting against the Capitol. She doesn't say anything for a long time.

"If it's a boy?" she asks, and I look back at her. I don't want Haymitch to find out this way, I don't. But I say it anyway.

"Haymitch," I sigh. "If it's a boy, we're going to name him Haymitch."

Johanna pauses before asking, "Why? I mean, Haymitch is a good lay, but does he really deserve that?"

I laugh out loud before answering, "Yeah, I mean he's kept us alive. Looked out for us. He's like my dad. Even if he's a drunk and self-righteous and the most annoying person on the planet."

I can almost hear him laughing from hear, can almost see him sneering at me. I look up at the sky and grin. Johanna laughs and I find myself, against all odds, finally making a friend that could rival Gale. I tell her so.

"Your cousin?" she asks, and I nod. "I'm sure he'd be a good lay, too." She stops and her sarcastic, biting tone disappears again when she adds, "But thanks, Katniss. I don't have many friends to speak of, other than Finnick. It's nice to know I have another."


	27. Chapter 27

**Just a quick reminder: this content belongs to Suzanne Collins, not me! As you probably know by now, I'm skipping quite a bit of the Quell, just because A. I don't want to plagiarize the entire thing, and B. I still have a lot of this story to go, so I don't want to waste it on tediously rewriting every moment of the Quell. I want to get to Mockingjay as soon as possible. So, in this chapter, I've skipped to when they blow out the force field.**

**Also, I've always felt the need for more of a Katniss/Johanna friendship, so I hope you feel it isn't too out of character. I'm still going to be writing Johanna as close to canon as possible, but I feel like she needs someone, and her and Katniss are, truly, very similar when get down to it. I love you all! Leave me some reviews if you have any questions or suggestions.**

"This plan is going to work," Johanna tells me. "It'll kill Brutus and Enobaria, and maybe Chaff." I know that the objective of this plan isn't to kill any of them, certainly not Chaff. Tonight, at midnight, we will be blowing up the force field that is trapping us in here. I didn't notice the significance of the rolls until Peeta pointed it out to me casually. Rolls from District 3. Twenty-four of them. He had merely said that it's odd they didn't send a number that could be divided evenly between us, and it made me start thinking. It wasn't until Beetee suggested the electrical trap that it finally came together, though. Third day of the Games, twenty-fourth hour. When I had looked over at Peeta, I could tell that he realized it, too. But we're both good enough actors to wipe our face of any identifiable emotion.

"I don't know," I tell Johanna, still acting for the cameras. "It seems too complicated."

"I can't argue with that," I tell her. My eyes drift up to Peeta, who is walking in the forest ahead of us. The sun has already faded, but the moonlight catches the gold in his hair. I sigh. Last night, we'd staged—sort of—a conversation on the beach. He was arguing with me that I had to survive for my family and for the baby, telling me to let him die. This led to a somewhat desperate argument, where I asked if Peeta even cared that our child would grow up without a father. I'd asked him if he really wanted me to be miserable and broken for the rest of my life. That's when the argument got real, because there's still a chance that, rebellion or not, we could be dead in a year. A war would maybe break out if we were successful, and it could kill one or both of us. So maybe we weren't talking about the Quell, but we were arguing about something very real. I'd told him that I needed him too much for him to die, and that I didn't want to live in a world where Rue had no father. Where I didn't have him to calm me down after the nightmares jolted me awake, screaming. He'd told me that losing me and the baby would push him over the edge and he'd probably kill himself. That's when I kissed him, just to shut him up. I didn't want to hear those words come out of his mouth, and I didn't want to realize, in my heart, that they were true. So I kissed him to make him be quiet, and it transformed into one of those kisses that made me hungry for him. Well aware that we couldn't have sex in front of the whole country, it was agonizing to feel his hands on my face when I wanted them all over my body. It was almost painful, the way I loved him.

"You're pathetic," Johanna snaps. "You and your love story."

"You're just mad because you don't have one," I snap back without thinking. Her face drops, and I realize that I've made a huge mistake. _They can't hurt me. There's no one left that I love. _ "Johanna, I'm sorry. I didn't mean that."

Her face is sour when she says, "Yeah, I know."

She doesn't say anything else, though, so I say, "Did I just ruin our new friendship?" I say it like it's a joke, but I'm actually afraid that I have. In the week or so I've known Johanna Mason, I've disliked her, been jealous of her, admired her, and finally, come to care about her. That's the thing about the Games. The bonds you create in days have the force of years behind them, just because of the trauma and fear and everything else you share.

So I'm relieved when she rolls her eyes and says, "It takes more than an insult to do that, brainless. Guess it's easy to tell you never had many friends." Finnick, Beetee, and Peeta have stopped to rest, so we both sit down on a fallen tree trunk.

"Nope," I say back, taking a drink of water. "Gale, but he's my cousin. There's a girl named Madge, too. She's the mayor's daughter."

"Will she be jealous that I'm your new best friend?" she asks, snatching the water out of my hand. I push her.

"I don't think so," I guess. "Our friendship's different, though. We haven't been in the Games together." We're quiet for a few minutes, passing the water back and forth and eating a few of the rolls that we were sent again this afternoon. I notice Peeta looking at me, and I look back. He's sweating more than he normally would, and I know that he's still weaker than he would be, due to the fact that he died. I smile at him, wanting so badly to be home, in our cool, air-conditioned house. Eating cheese buns and listening to Prim talk about Lady, or Buttercup, or one of her silly friends.

"Oh, for God's sake," Johanna moans. "You're unbearable." She pulls me to my feet, and we walk over to where the men are. Peeta's hand immediately comes up to my face and he pulls me in for a kiss.

"How are you?" I ask.

"Tired," he admits. I manage a smile and I lean my head against his broad shoulder. We don't say much. Everyone is trying to catch their breath before our last push up the hill towards the lightning tree. The wave still hasn't come, but it has to be ten o clock by now. I start getting nervous that we won't have time, that we'll miss our window of opportunity. So I urge everyone to their feet and we start that last trek up the hill to the lightning tree. When we finally get there, Beetee asks Finnick to assist him, and the rest of us stand guard. Before he even attaches any wire to the tree, Beetee unrolls yards and yards of the stuff. He has Finnick secure it tightly around a broken branch and lay it on the ground. This is when I get suspicious; even though I know next to nothing about electricity, I know that that branch being wired will have no effect on the so-called trap we've made for the Careers. Wheels start turning in my mind and everything finally clicks together when I look near the tree and see that wavy, glass-like square just above the ground. I stand completely still and make sure I've wiped by face clean of any surprise.

The work on the trunk's completed just as we hear the wave start. I've never really worked out at what point in the ten o'clock hour it erupts. There must be some buildup, then the wave itself, and the aftermath of the flooding. The sky tells me that it's ten-thirty.

This is when Beetee reveals the rest of the plan. Since we move most swiftly through the trees, he wants Johanna and me to take the coil down through the jungle, unwinding the wire as we go. We are to lay it across the twelve o'clock beach and drop the metal spool, with whatever is left, deep into the water, making sure it sinks. Then run for the jungle. If we go now, we should make it to safety.

This is also when I get suspicious of Beetee. I know that I shouldn't because he's the mastermind of this whole thing. But why would he suggest that Peeta and I separate?

Peeta must be thinking the same thing, because he says immediately, "I want to go with them as a guard." I squeeze the pearl he gave me just hours ago so tightly in my hand it makes an indent.

"You're too slow. Besides, I need you on this end. Katniss will guard," says Beetee. "There's no time to debate this. I'm sorry. If the girls are to get out of there alive, they need to move now." He hands the coil to Johanna.

I don't like this at all, no more than Peeta does. I can't protect him if we're not together. But Beetee's probably right, and I have to trust him. He's the one that's getting us out. _Nothing will happen to Peeta,_ I tell myself. I don't believe it for a second, but I trust Beetee.

"It's okay," I say to him, moving closer to him. "We'll just drop the coil and come straight back up."

"Not into the lightning zone," Beetee reminds me. "Head for the tree in the one-to-two-o'clock sector." _That's where they'll pick us up from. _"Don't even think about going back to the beach, though, until I can assess the damage."

I take Peeta's face in my hands. "Don't worry, I'll see you at midnight." I give him a kiss and wrap my arms around him, whispering quietly in his ear, "If anything happens, stay right here. I _will_ come and find you."

"Okay," he says. "I love you." Knowing full well that this could be the last time we ever see each other, my eyes start to get wet. He leans down and touches his forehead to my stomach. "And you, Rue." He kisses my navel gently before standing up. "I love you," he says again.

"I love you," I whisper. Before I do something stupid, like cry, I turn to Johanna and say, "Ready?"

"Why not?" says Johanna with a shrug. "You guard, I'll unwind. We can trade off later." Without further discussion, we head down the slope. We talk quite a bit, about stupid things, like what District 7 is like. I tell her that it was my favorite when I went on Tour. She told me that she thought District 12 is weird.

I laugh and say, "Weird as in everyone is starving to death? Or weird as in everything is covered in coal dust?"

"Both, brainless," she snaps. We stop to rest a little after eleven, when we hear the bugs start clicking in the sector next to us. "Better hurry." When she stands up, she twists her ankle and falls over. I can tell that it's fake, but I rush over to her to help her anyway. I'm not surprised when she whispers so quietly I have to focus to understand her words, "I'm going to hit you over the head and cut out your tracker. Act like we've turned on each other and fight back. Knock me out and cut out my tracker."

"Are you sure you're alright?" I ask, allowing friendly concern to leech into my voice.

"I'm not a wimp," she retorts, getting up and pretending to wince as she puts weight on her foot. "Take the coil." Both of our hands are still on the metal cylinder when there's a slight vibration. Suddenly, the thin golden wire from above spring down at us, bunching in tangled loops and curls around our wrists. Then the severed end snakes up to our feet. As if on cue, Johanna takes the spool and smashes it into the side of my head.

Despite the fact that I'm in terrible pain, I manage to remember that we have a charade to keep up, so I gasp, "Why are you doing this?"

"Don't think I'm stupid," she growls, pinning me down and digging her knife into my arm. "You two were going to sabotage us."

"No," I moan, which isn't all that fake, because my vision is blurring in and out, and it's hard to breathe. As soon as I feel her tug something out of my arm, though, I manage grab hold of the spool, bring it up, and hit her hard enough in the head that she falls off of me and I jump on top of her, wresting the knife from her hand. "We weren't going to sabotage you, but it was clear that you were."

Half way through digging the knife into her arm, the world starts to tilt again and I throw up next to her, expelling all of the seafood we ate earlier. Eventually, I pull out the slimy, bloody tracker and pretend to choke her. "Throw me off of you," I whisper. "Then follow me."

I press my arms down into her throat—amazed that I am still able to act, considering the pain I'm in—and say, "You were going to kill me and Finnick was going to take care of Peeta, right? That was the plan all along." Johanna gets her feet underneath me and launches me off of her. I'm half-conscious and the world is tilting around me, but I have tunnel vision. I will not pass out. Peeta's life, Johanna's life, my child's life, all depends on me being able to get back to that tree. So I crawl for a while before I finally feel like I can run, and I hear her stumbling behind me, hitting trees, but on her feet and following me. I throw up two more times on the way up there, and rip off some moss to wrap around my arm. For the sake of appearances, I manage to notch an arrow and shoot it in Johanna's general direction. I know it doesn't hit her though, so I keep running. Eventually, she throws her axe close to me, and I can hear it whizz past my ear. I'm sure she did it to get rid of the cumbersome, extra weight as much as she did to keep up the act. The insects are still loud in the next sector, but I can't really tell if it's them or the ringing in my head from the hit. All I know is that I have to get to that tree before the insects stop, I have to be pulled out of this hellhole. I have to get to Peeta. Peeta. My dying wish.

The boom of a cannon pulls me up short. Someone has died. It could be anybody. I don't let myself consider the possibility that it's Peeta. "Peeta!" I scream, unable to contain myself. "Peeta!" I keep running, keep running, slowing only to listen for Peeta's voice, for Johanna's steady crash of her body running into trees. I hear him call my name from far away, but I'm too tired to call back. I can still hear the insects, too, but are they starting to fade?

I keep the loose wire on my left as a guide, and eventually, the tree swims into view, covered with shimmering gold wire. No one is standing around like I expected them to be.

"Peeta?" I call softly. I hear a moan somewhere to my right and I find him unconscious, bruise swelling on the side of his head, blood running down his arm. Finnick is nowhere to be seen. Beetee is lying higher up on the ground, when I look closer. He's not conscious either, and has a gash below the crook of his elbow. I can't believe I'm still cognizant enough for this damn act. "Beetee, what's going on? Who cut you? Was it Finnick?" I shake him hard, but I don't know what else to do. Beetee was the one who was supposed to break the force field.

But after a panicked moment, I remember the branch that was laying on the ground, connected to the tree with wire. Beetee is useless, I realize. I can't wake him up and there's a chance he could die. Finnick is nowhere in sight. Johanna has fallen, unconscious and bloody, next to Peeta on the ground. It's only me. And Chaff, I realize, but who knows how far away he is. I want to call out his name, but that would be a dead giveaway that something is going on, on the off chance that the Gamemakers—and Snow—haven't realized that there's a bigger plan in play here.

"Katniss!" I hear his voice even though he's far away.

"Finnick!" I scream, done trying to keep up this pretense. "I'm here, I'm here!" I hear rustling in the trees near me, and dread sinks into my stomach. I've done nothing but draw someone here, and that someone could kill me, Peeta, Johanna, and Beetee. It's probably Brutus or Enobaria, or both.

But it's Chaff. His head sticks out from the trees, and I see that he's relatively unharmed. I look down at his arm, and the tracker's still there. What does this mean for him? At the moment, I'm too dazed and sick and injured to think about it for too long.

"Finnick," I groan. Chaff doesn't say anything, doesn't do anything for a minute. Then he nods, and takes off into the trees in the direction that Finnick's voice came from. But Haymitch's words echo around in my mind, and I realize that I'm too consumed with finding my friend to hear that the clicking of the insects has gotten much, much quieter. _Remember who the real enemy is._ I've always known who the real enemy is. Always, my entire life. Who starves and tortures and kills us in the arena. Who will soon kill everyone I love.

My shaking hands slide the wire from the hilt of Beetee's knife, and I wind it around the arrow just above the feathers, and secure it with a knot I picked up in training. I rise, turning to the force field, fully revealing myself but not caring. Let Brutus and Enobaria come. I only care about that wavering square high above me, the flaw, the . . . what did Beetee call it that day? The chink in the armor. I let the arrow fly, see it hits its mark and vanish, pulling the threat of gold behind it.

My hair stands on end and the lightning strikes the tree.

A flash of white runs up the wire and just for a moment, the dome bursts into a dazzling blue light. I'm thrown backward to the ground, my body useless, paralyzed, bits of the arena falling down around me. I only manage to get up long enough to throw my body on top of Peeta and Johanna, stupidly trying to shield them from whatever's coming.

The earth explodes into showers of dirt and plants. Trees burst into flames. Even the sky has blossomed into a beautiful plant made of light. _What's happening?_ I wonder. Why are they shooting fireworks? Are they trying to light up the sky so the audience can see our deaths better?

_A reminder to the rebels that even the strongest among them cannot overcome the power of the Capitol. . ._

_ I'm sorry, little Rue, little Haymitch, whoever you are. I'm sorry._

As soon as I think the words, the hovercraft materializes above me without warning. If it was quiet, and a mockingjay perched close at hand, I would have heard the jungle go silent and then the bird's call that precedes the appearance of the aircraft. But I could never hear anything over the bombardment.

The claw drops from the underside until it's directly overhead. I can see the Capitol's seal on the bottom and my heart starts to race. The metal talons slide under all three of us, and I want so desperately to move their bodies further underneath mine so at least maybe they'll be spared. But I'm frozen, helpless. I hope, then, that I at least die before I reach the shadowy figures waiting above me. We've failed. Our plan has failed, and we are all going to die.

It isn't until we make it to the top that I see his face, and my entire body relaxes—which isn't much, considering I'm still mostly paralyzed. Haymitch. And Plutarch beside him. When we're safely inside, I finally black out.

PB

The first thing that I can think when I'm conscious again is Peeta's name. He made it out, I know he did, but did his head injury kill him? Put him in a coma? Did he lose too much blood? I look to my left and see Johanna, still asleep. I'm not restrained—yet—so I pull the tubes out of my arm and kick her. She starts, but is glaring at me within seconds.

"Why did you do that?" she snaps.

"We're out," I say, a wild grin on my face. She sits up so quickly I'm amazed that she doesn't fall out of the padded bed she's on. She looks at me with a grin just as crazy as my own. When she looks around, I do, too. Beetee is laying on another bed, unconscious, with tubes in his arms and machines beeping continuously. I do not see Peeta. "Johanna? He was with us in the claw, right? Peeta?"

"Yes," she says, looking around suspiciously. I breathe a sigh of relief. "Should we go find them?" Even though my head is still killing me, a huge smile is on my face. Peeta. We're free, our child is free. Finnick. Chaff. We're free.

It doesn't take long to find them, considering the hovercraft isn't very large. I hear Haymitch's voice behind a door, and Plutarch's, but no one else. Worry starts to twist my stomach again. What if he didn't make it?

Johanna, annoyed with my lack of movement, slides the door open angrily and marches inside. I follow her. When I see Peeta, alive but pale, sitting at one of the chairs, I throw myself at him, completely disregarding anyone else who may be in the room. His lips are on mine before I even know what's happening, and I don't care, I don't care, I don't care. I pull away to take a deep breath and he crushes me in a hug.

"I was so scared," I babble, "that I wouldn't find you, I was so scared, Peeta—"

"Shh," he tells me, putting a finger on my lips. "I was, too. Incidentally, who blew out the force field?"

"I did," I said, embarrassed. I can feel everyone's eyes on me. "Beetee was unconscious and so was everyone else, so I knew that I had to. Wait," I say, my hand flying to my stomach. "Is she okay? Did it hurt her?"

It's Plutarch who speaks up, but I don't take my eyes off of Peeta. "Miraculously, yes," Plutarch says. I can hear the smile in his voice. I'm sure the Baby on Fire—or whatever him and his team decide to call my child—will be very valuable in District Thirteen. Peeta kisses me once, quickly and roughly, before I turn to Plutarch. Johanna's face is twisted into a frown. So is Haymitch's.

I notice that Finnick is not in the room. Neither is Chaff.

"Finnick," I say, looking at Plutarch. "Where's Finnick?"

"Katniss," Haymitch starts, his voice soft, like he's talking to a sick child. I squeeze my eyes shut so tightly I see white shapes dancing on the black of my eyelids. "Finnick and Chaff were picked up by the Capitol, along with Enobaria."

Johanna flings herself at Plutarch, screaming bloody murder, and tries to claw his eyes out of his face. "You! He did more than anyone else for you and this stupid rebellion!" she screams. "You were supposed to save him!" I get up and wrap my arms around Johanna's chest, pulling her off of him. I don't do it for Plutarch, because I would like to be clawing at his face, too. Finnick, my friend, whose laugh is so full of joy that it makes you feel like the world maybe isn't such a bad place. Finnick, whose seductive, sensuous façade masks a good heart. Finnick, who saved Peeta's life. Finnick, who I trust.

Johanna breaks down in my arms, and I twist her around so her head leans against my chest. I pretend not to notice her sobs when I look at Plutarch and tell him in a hard voice, "Finnick. Get him."

"We can't, Katniss," Peeta says. His eyes are full of tears, but it takes all of my restraint not to snap at him. I know he's just saying it so I don't attack Plutarch, or Haymitch. But I still glare at him with stony eyes. "It's too risky. We almost didn't get away."

"I don't care," I shoot back, shifting my eyes to Plutarch. "Finnick doesn't deserve this."

"Listen, Katniss," Haymitch says in a voice just as hard as my own. "He's being taken to the Capitol as we speak. We're on a very roundabout route to District 13. Rescuing him is impossible right now. Maybe later, when we've met with President Coin, we can talk about extracting Finnick and C-Chaff," his voice shakes as he says his friend's name, and I can't be angry at Haymitch. Because someone he cares about is being tortured, too. Arm still around Johanna, I turn to go, but Haymitch says something that makes both us stop dead in our tracks, "Most of the districts are in full-scale rebellion."

"What?" Johanna asks, not even turning. "Seven?"

"Yes," Plutarch chimes in. She clenches her fists and her knuckles turn white. Without looking back, both of us walk out. When we get back to our padded beds, we push them together without saying a word. How is it that a week ago, I didn't like this girl? I don't know. Now, it seems like she's been part of me my whole life.

We lay back on our beds, our shoulders touching. I take her hand, and she squeezes mine back. When I look in her eyes, they're full of tears. "Finnick is one of the only friends I have," says Johanna. Only one of her tears spill over.

"You don't have to explain it to me," I say to her.

"He's one of the only people I have left that I care about," she says, ignoring me. She squeezes my hand even tighter. "Still, I would be lying if I said that I'm not glad you made it out."

"I'm glad you made it out, too," I tell her. She leans her head against my shoulder, and I let my mind wander to my mother and Prim. Surely, they heeded my warning about getting out of the district. I have no doubt that Snow sent someone to kill them as soon as I blew out the force field. I wonder if Gale is alright. Peeta's dad. Finally, tired of keeping all of my panic inside of me, I ask Johanna, knowing that she'll be honest with me, "Do you think he sent someone to kill my family?"

"Yes," replies Johanna, lifting her head off my shoulder to look at me. Her hand still holds mine. "I do. Probably Peeta's family, too. And all of your cousins."

"That's how he got you, isn't it?" I whisper, not wanting to sound like I pity her. Regardless, my eyes cloud over.

"Yes," she says back, looking away from me quickly and rubbing the heel of her hand into one of her eyes. "Snow, he—there was—something I wouldn't do for him. You don't just say no to him, Katniss. He threatened to kill them, of course, but I didn't believe him. Until a 'fire' broke out in just the same area of Seven where all of my family, and my boyfriend lived. I was away at the Games at the time, and I had just refused Snow again. My family lived with me in the Victor's Village, but somehow, they all died that day. Snow claimed they were visiting my grandmother for tea. Odd, though, that that fire only killed two families," she says sarcastically. "Mine, and my boyfriend's."

"That's awful," I say, genuinely taken aback by her story. "I'm so sorry."

"It's fine, it was a few years ago," she says brusquely. I notice that she still hasn't let go of my hand. "I'm over it."

"What—what did he ask you to do?" I ask, feeling sick and not knowing if I even wanted to hear her answer. But she studies me for a very long time, like she's trying to figure out whether or not she can tell me, whether or not she can trust me. Eventually, she must decide that she can.

"This is more Finnick's story to tell than mine," she begins, her voice shaking when she says his name. "But since he's not here, I guess it's up to me." She looks me directly in the eyes and says in the flattest, most emotionless tone I've ever heard, "If you win the Games and you're desirable enough, Snow sells your body to the highest bidder in the Capitol. People pay exorbitant amounts of money for the victors they do find desirable. I was one of them. Apparently, they found my little 'helpless' act very appealing," she deadpans. "He tried to sell me. I wouldn't let him, but he still tried. The first person that tr-well, you know. I killed him when he tried to touch me. So Snow killed my family."

"Wait," I say, holding up the fingers of my free hand up to my mouth, because I think I might vomit. I do, right on the floor next to the bed, but I also needed to process what she's saying. Forced into what? Prostitution? And she said something about Finnick. . .

"No," I breathe. "Finnick? You're telling me—"

"Yes," she finishes. "I'm going to go ask Plutarch for something to eat, and when I get back, we're going to change the subject. Got it?" I nod at her, almost unable to process this new information. Finnick's string of lovers in the Capitol. . . he did it all to protect the people he loved. Mags, probably. Annie. I want to scream, then, because I want to beg for his forgiveness, I want to take back every foul thought I've had about him, but I can't. Because he's being tortured by Snow.

I hear some yelling from the room where everyone else is, but I don't get up. Moments later, Johanna comes out with a plastic bag in her hand. Peeta doesn't come, but I know that's just because he wants to give Johanna and me some privacy. When Johanna settles back in next to me, she tosses a thin blanket over our legs and hands me some kind of sandwich.

Since I vomited up our seafood feast, I'm starving. She also puts a bottle of water in my lap. We eat in silence, and when we finish, I can tell that I'm not the only one whose stomach is unsatisfied. Johanna throws the plastic bag off of the bed in frustration and snaps, "I hope there's more food in District 13 than there is on this damn hovercraft."

I just say, "Me too." After a couple of minutes of silence, though, my head is buzzing with worry and panic, thinking about my family, so I ask, "Can I ask you something?"

"You just did," she mocks, remembering that I said the same thing in the arena. After a second or two, she adds, "Yeah. Go ahead."

"Haymitch told me once that something happened to Annie Cresta in her Games that they didn't broadcast. Do you know what it is?" I don't care _that_ much, I just want to talk about something else. Something that doesn't involve Snow killing entire families.

She chews her lip for a minute before answering, "Finnick said something similar once when I caller her crazy. He got really defensive. I already knew they were together at that point, so I knew it had to be something different. That he wasn't getting defensive because he had to hide their relationship. But he wouldn't tell me what happened," she answers. "Had to be something bad, though."

"Yeah," I say absentmindedly. "You ever meet her?"

"I did," says Johanna. "On my Tour. I won the year after she did. She didn't really seem _crazy,_ just sort of unbalanced. Sometimes she'd put her hands over her ears and start talking nonsense. About dams and beasts and heads and stuff."

"Didn't she kill a lot of people?" I ask, wondering again how someone who'd trained her whole life for the Games could go insane in the arena.

"Eight," she replies automatically. "We've all killed people, though."

"Yeah," I say. I just didn't train my whole life to do it. And I didn't kill one-third of the people in my arena. But I don't say any of what I'm thinking.

"I've killed four people," says Johanna conversationally. I don't understand how she can compartmentalize everything so well, but I admire that about her. I wish that I could just shove all of the people I've killed into a compartment deep in my mind, not having to think about them.

"Five," I correct instantly. "Three in your first Games, the fourth must've been the man that Snow . . . the fifth was in the Quell."

"Right," she nods. "How many for you?"

"Six," I sigh, wanting more than ever to switch to a different subject. I don't want to think about Gloss and the man from Five. Or the four from the 74th Games. I think Johanna gets it, though, because she doesn't say anything else. She reaches her hand out and looks at me expectantly. "What?"

She rolls her eyes and says, "The kid, brainless. I want to see if it'll kick for me."

I nod, but say, "Don't get your hopes up." But I let her rest her hand gently on my stomach, and eventually, I lean my head against her shoulder and fall asleep. What seems like minutes later, a loud whooping wakes me up.

"What?" I say, groggily, lifting my head up. My neck hurts.

"The kid! I felt it!" Johanna says excitedly. "Like, barely, but I felt it!"

"Oh," I say. "Is that all?" She doesn't reply, but she gets up and opens the sliding door that separates us from the others. I lean my head back again, hoping the kink in my neck goes away. I hear Johanna yell to Peeta about the child kicking. Rolling my eyes, I turn back over and wait for Johanna to come back. But I feel bad, because I've barely seen Peeta since I woke up. Johanna was upset and I felt like I needed to be here with her. So I get up, put my hands on my lower back and stretch before walking to the compartment where they all sit.

"You're not going to attack me again?" Plutarch is saying warily as I walk up.

"No, she isn't," I say in a hard voice. Johanna glares at me. I ignore her. "But you and whoever is in charge of Thirteen are going to rescue Finnick and Chaff." I don't really say anything else, though. Haymitch is talking to Johanna about something—the kid, probably—so I settle myself into Peeta's lap. He smiles at me like he always does and pushes my hair behind my ears.

"How are you?" he asks.

"Tired," I reply. I touch the lump on his head. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah," sighs Peeta. "Finnick didn't hit me as hard as Johanna got you. Or as hard as you hit her. I'm okay."

"We'll still probably have to be hospitalized. No doubt we have concussions," I tell him. "And my motor functions aren't great after that electric shock. And my mind, it feels slow. And confused."

"You seem okay," he notes, licking his thumb and rubbing it against my eyebrows. "There's some dried blood," explains Peeta.

"I seem okay, but thinking is taking about ten times the effort it normally does," I grunt. After a minute or so of silence, I tell him what's on my mind, "I'm so glad you're alive. That you're here, with me."

"Me, too," he sighs, wrapping his arms around me. "I was so worried that you wouldn't get back or that one of us would get left behind. I don't think I've ever felt panic like that before."

"I'm never leaving your side again, that's certain. You're always going to be somewhere I can protect you," I say. "I'm worried about everyone back home. Johanna thinks that Snow might've sent someone to kill our families."

"With any hope, they listened to us and got out," he says. His voice drops automatically when he talks about things like this, a result of our paranoia when we were in Twelve. I do it, too, though. "Sorry," he coughs. As always, he's following my train of thought. "We usually have to whisper about things like this."

"Don't apologize," I tell him. "It's stupid."

"You're right," he replies. Turning his chair towards Haymitch, he addresses Johanna. "So, you felt her kick?"

"I sat there with my hand on Katniss's fat stomach for more than an hour waiting for the kid to move," replies Johanna. "Kid's strong."

Haymitch doesn't say anything, but I can feel him looking at me. I had almost forgotten that I told Johanna in the arena that if it's a boy, we're going to name it after Haymitch. I avert my eyes and look instead at Peeta. "I'm tired," I tell him.

"So am I," says Johanna.

"Okay," Peeta says gently, his thumb brushing against my lips. "There are some things I need to talk to these two about. I'll be out there later."

"What do you need to talk to them about?" I ask, annoyed that he's keeping secrets.

"I'll tell you later," he whispers against my lips. "I promise, Katniss." I sigh and let him kiss me, because now that we're both alive and free, there's no point in being angry or annoyed with him. We're safe. Our child is safe.

"I love you," I murmur when he's done kissing me.

"I love you more," he whispers back.

"Wait," I say, before Johanna and I leave the room. "Is there any more food? We're starving."

Haymitch gets up and digs around in a plastic box for a while and tosses me a plastic bag similar to the one Johanna brought out earlier. "It isn't much, sweetheart. Definitely not enough for you, judging by your stomach," Haymitch sneers. He's probably still upset about the name thing.

I scowl at him and at Johanna when she laughs. But my face freezes when I realize I've forgotten someone very important. "Cinna," I breathe.

Plutarch looks relieved that he can tell me some good news, "They're on their way out. Running. Him, Portia, and Effie. Cinna mentioned that he was going to try and get your preps, but when we last communicated, he didn't specify whether they were with him or not. As soon as they get out of the outskirts, somewhere abandoned, we're picking them up."

"But his head," I protest. "He was hurt so badly."

"Yes," Plutarch agrees. "He's not in good shape. But he's on his way out, nevertheless."

It's nice to have a weight off my chest when I'm worrying myself to death about my family and Finnick. I grin at Peeta, and let Johanna tug me out of the room and we lay on the beds again, shoulder to shoulder. As soon as we sit down, though, the relief fades and turns into worry. _Try not to think of Prim,_ I remind myself. _No Prim, no Gale, no Mom. Don't think of any of them._

"Katniss," Johanna snaps. "Stop it. It's not going to help."

"Sorry," I snap back. I choke down the sandwich, which must have some sort of turkey in it, because it's actually halfway decent. The bread is that fine, white Capitol stuff, so the meal isn't bad. I wash it down with water and wait for Johanna to finish. Finally, she does, and she sits back, hands on her distended belly.

"That's better," she groans.

"You almost look like me," nodding to her full belly.

"Shut up," she snaps. Suddenly Johanna says, "I'm glad you're my friend, Katniss."

"Me, too," I say back. We sit there in the semidarkness of the hovercraft for a long time, holding hands, before we fall into a deep sleep.

I don't have any nightmares; instead, I dream of a blue eyed child who is playing in the Meadow. Her hair is dark, like coal, and her skin is a middling color, somewhere between fair and olive. But her eyes are the brightest blue I've ever seen, glowing like one of the blue stars we read about in school. She has a face shaped just like her father's, but her eyes are almond shaped, like my own. She is such a perfect blend of both of our faces, it takes my breath away. So does the instantaneous, crushing love I feel for her. It is a nonsensical dream. She plays with dandelions and sings silly little children's songs, while I sit in the grass and watch her. Nothing else happens, except at the end, when I say her name. It doesn't hurt, like it usually does, and I think it's because the joy of having her has erased the pain of the last little girl who had her name, "Rue!" I call. "Come back to mama."

The dream fades away before I can hold her in my arms. I don't dream again.

I jolt awake, startled into consciousness by someone shaking my shoulder. "Katniss," Johanna hisses. I take in her startled face and sit up immediately.

"What happened?" I ask urgently. I register the shouting in the other room. It sounds like Peeta. I move to get up.

"No, stay here," Johanna says, pushing me back down. "Don't leave me here by myself." So I stay, and we lean against each other again, alert and awake, though we were unconscious minutes ago. "I don't know what's going on. There was a really loud beeping, which woke me up. Someone said something, and then the yelling started."

"Okay," I try to stay calm. "So we wait for someone to tell us what's going on."

So we do. We wait, leaning against each other, nervous, for someone to come out. And he does come out, eventually. I know automatically, from the look on his face, that what he's going to say isn't good. His eyes are rimmed with red and he has that reluctant expression on his face, the one he wears when he wants to protect me from something, but knows that he can't.

"Peeta," I say. "What's going on?"

"Katniss," he says gently. It's quiet. Soft. The same voice he used when he talked to the morphling as she died. I instinctively raise my hand to block his words but he catches it and holds on tightly. Johanna takes my other hand, gripping it like a vice. I mouth one word to him. _Don't._ But he knows he can't shield me from this. "They firebombed Twelve. We don't know if our families got out yet."

I'm silent. Because of course, Snow firebombed Twelve. Of course he did. He can't use me as a pawn anymore, so he takes away the only home I have left. My people. My home. I don't even know if I have the emotional capacity to fully process what's going on.

I barely register Johanna storming out of the bed and into the other room, and her subsequent screaming at Plutarch, "I don't care! Find the _fuck_ out!" Plutarch says something that I don't catch and she yells, "Do you think I care? Stop outside the district! Find out if her family is dead or alive, for fuck's sake!"

The only thing I catch after that is, "I can't."

I fall back onto the bed, and Peeta's arms are around me in seconds. He pulls me onto his lap and rocks me back and forth, like he did after the jabberjays. Croons stupid, comforting words in my ear. He's crying, though. So am I. Eventually, Johanna comes back and Peeta sets me down. Gently, he lays me on my side, so I'm facing him. After a while, Johanna hesitantly wraps one of her arms around me from behind, her arm brushing against Peeta's. We don't say anything. Peeta and I stare at each other, tears leaking out of our eyes. We three listen to the sound of each other's breathing until somehow, it lulls us into a land of dreams and nightmares, arenas and charred bodies.


	28. Chapter 28

**Just a quick reminder: this content belongs to Suzanne Collins, not me! Sorry this chapter is outrageously long. Enjoy!**

I don't like Thirteen. Gray walls, gray uniforms. Gray everything. It doesn't help that we're trapped underground—which reminds me all too much of the mines where my father died—and that I still don't know if my family is safe. Peeta was released from the hospital after they told him he had a very mild concussion, but Johanna and I haven't been. We hit each other on the head so much harder than Finnick hit Peeta that the doctors are concerned that there's internal damage. Both of us are having a hard time remembering much, and get distracted easily. Additionally, they've decided to keep me for observation because they're concerned the shock from the force field may have caused additional damage.

I don't want to be in the hospital. I want to be somewhere I can do something useful, like convince the president of this district to rescue my friends. Convince Plutarch to find out if my mother and sister are alive. But Johanna and I aren't allowed to leave. At least they've given us a hospital room to share.

It isn't until the second full day we're there—three and a half days since we were pulled from the arena, since it took us around ten hours for us to get to District Thirteen—that anything positive happens at all. I'm not sure if it's because Johanna has repeatedly abused Plutarch every time he came to see us, or Peeta has been talking sense into him, or the president actually cares about them—but Haymitch comes to tell us that President Coin and Plutarch have decided to send a hovercraft to search for survivors.

"They survived, Haymitch," I snap. "You know they did. They were prepared."

"Don't snap at me," he says, just as angrily. He plops down on Johanna's vacant bed—Johanna is on mine—and rubs his forehead with his fingers. "This miserable damn place doesn't have one drop of alcohol."

"Sorry," I say shortly. Johanna sneers at him, and he rolls his eyes.

"You guys are terrible company," complains Haymitch. "Where's the boy?"

"Wherever he's supposed to be, I'm sure," I say, though I still panic when he isn't in my sight. Especially if I don't know, specifically, where he is. I didn't look at his stupid tattooed schedule that apparently is mandatory here. But I try to quell the panic that rises up inside of my chest by telling myself that we're safe now, we're alright. It doesn't work. But I say, "I think he was—I mean we were—assigned somewhere to live today. Check there, wherever it is."

"Just you two?" he asks. He really does look terrible; his skin is an ashy gray and there's a light sheen of sweat all over his face. It looks like he's going to vomit everywhere.

"No, Johanna's living with us," I say distractedly. My head is starting to hurt again, so I press the button so a nurse can bring me more medicine. "Figure she can be live-in help when the baby gets here." I don't say the truth—although it's true she could help with the baby—that Johanna has no one. Just me, just Peeta. Besides Finnick, she had no other friends. So Peeta and I agreed that she should come with us, because I'm sure she'd have done the same if Peeta wasn't rescued.

My blood runs cold and my breaths speed up when I think about it—waking up on that damned hovercraft just to be told that Peeta wasn't rescued. That he was in the Capitol. I miss Finnick and I'm more than angry at his abandonment, but it really can't hold a flame to what I'd feel if Peeta was in his position. Haymitch nods at me, and gets up from Johanna's bed. He goes to leave, but before he does, he leans down to give me an awkward, one-armed hug. He winks at Johanna.

"Get out of here, you dirty old man," she scowls. Remembering what both she and Haymitch said about them sleeping together, I think it's a little odd that she isn't nicer to him. It must just be a physical thing, maybe. I can't imagine physically tying yourself like that to someone you don't love, but that could just be me. I'm more guarded, physically and emotionally, than probably anyone in Panem.

Haymitch is just sliding the door open when he spins and says, "Oh, I forgot. Doctors are coming later."

"For what?"

"Something about the kid," he mutters, gesturing at my stomach. I roll my eyes, but worry starts buzzing again in my mind. What do they want with her? What could they possibly want with her? "Thought I'd warn you. I'll send the boy before they come. And Katniss," he adds. I look up at him. "I'll come as soon as I hear anything about your family." Unable to say anything, I nod at him. I'm still too worried about them and what the doctors could want with the child that I can't speak. He rushes out of the room.

"I'm nervous," I blurt out to Johanna. We sit on my bed the same way we did in the hovercraft. Side by side, shoulders leaning against each other.

"You said your family knew to get out," she reminds me. "They're probably fine, if they got far enough away from the bombs."

"I hope," I breathe. My hands are restless. I want to hit something. "What do you think the doctors want with the baby?"

"Probably just want to check up on it," she guesses, picking at her nails. "I wouldn't worry. God, I want to get out of this stupid hospital."

"Me, too," I reply. It's making me restless and annoyed, being cooped up here. Not having Peeta here doesn't help. I would've expected him to be allowed here more, but apparently command here has him busy. Probably broadcasting him all over Panem, using his talent with words to fan the flames of the rebellion. I sigh, wanting to change the subject, "How come I already feel so close to you? We've only known each other for like. . . almost two weeks."

"You know as well as I do that days together in the Games equals years of friendship under normal circumstances," replies Johanna, her voice annoyed. I know she doesn't like to ruminate too long on subjects like friendship and love. It's like looking at the sun. She doesn't want to stare right at it, just wants to enjoy its warmth. I guess I understand that. "The things we have to face in the Games glue people together more tightly than anything else. Think about it, Katniss. If you'd met Peeta outside of the Games, if you started dating and fell in love like normal people do, you probably wouldn't have gotten engaged to him and married him so quickly."

"I suppose," I reply, thinking. "It's just odd, though. It took me so long to trust Gale, to really learn to be friends with him. With you, it took a couple of days."

"You're saying all of this like I don't understand," snaps Johanna. "Katniss, you're a lot like me. You're guarded and sullen and hostile—I'm more hostile than you because I have no one left to protect."

"Yeah," I agree. "Neither of us is very pleasant." She barks out a laugh. After that we're quiet, but she grabs hold of my hand. Enjoying the warmth of our friendship. We sit there for a long time, eventually making conversation, guessing at how the rebellion was going, until Peeta comes in with two trays from the cafeteria.

"Hi," I smile, exhaling in immediate relief. Whenever he comes in, the relief that he's alive and well is almost crushing. He smiles at me, and Johanna rolls her eyes and moves back over to her bed. Peeta gives her a hug, though, and she rolls her eyes at that too. But when I look over, the smallest smile is turning the corners of her mouth up. Peeta sets her lunch down in front of her, sets mine down on the side table, and with eyes that are practically magnetic, moves over to my bed and looks at me like he's never seen anything so beautiful.

"Hi," he murmurs, moving his face closer to mine. He just looks at me for a few seconds, memorizing my face, and kisses me. I feel awkward, because Johanna is watching us. But I let him kiss me, and sigh when he pulls away. "What did you guys do today?"

"Oh, let's see," I start, but Johanna snorts and interrupts me.

"We went for a five mile run, flew to the Capitol, killed President Snow, and Katniss gave birth," scoffs Johanna. "What do you think, brainless? We stayed in this stupid room and talked to each other."

"We played cards, too," I remind her. She laughs, a little ruefully, and I turn back to Peeta. "We're dying of boredom in here, Peeta."

"Sorry, sweetheart," he murmurs, kissing my temple. "I think they're just keeping you because your concussions were worse than mine. I don't think they found anything else abnormal, so the shock mustn't have hurt you too badly."

"I just want to get out of here," I complain. "Tell us about your day. I'm sure it was more interesting."

"Oh, nothing too interesting," he quips. "I couldn't start training with the rest of Thirteen because I still have a concussion. But I met with President Coin and Plutarch, and filmed a short propo—"

"A short _what?_" Johanna cuts in, scowling.

"Propo. Plutarch says it stands for propaganda spot. Anyway, it wasn't much. Basically just telling the rebels that you and I are alive and well, and ready to fight," he explains. "I think as soon as you're released, you'll start doing them with me."

"I thought so," I reply. "Johanna too?"

"Yeah, she'll be in some of them," says Peeta. "Mostly you, though. Haymitch is trying to come up with strategies for it."

"Why do I need strategies?" I ask, irked. Peeta sits in the relative quiet of Thirteen and films 'propos' and I need strategies. Great. More people who want to paint my face and manipulate me.

"Because, you—or so they say—aren't so great at acting," chuckles Peeta. "I defended you, but Haymitch says that you're only inspiring when you're real."

"Bullshit," snaps Johanna. "You should've seen our acting when we knocked each other out. Pretending we'd turned on each other and everything. We were great."

"Is that why you two hit each other hard enough to cause brain damage?" asks Peeta, trying not to grin.

"We didn't really hit each other that hard," I say, frowning. "We could still walk and run. I still had my wits about me enough to blow out the force field."

"Adrenaline, the doctors tell me," answers Peeta.

"Speak for yourself," says Johanna. "I was puking and on the verge of passing out the entire time."

"Me, too," I admit. We're quiet for a minute, and I shovel the food into my mouth. In Thirteen, according to Peeta, they strictly control food. They give you enough to get to the next meal, no more, no less. They've got it down to a science. They adjust your calorie intake according to your height, weight, and amount of physical exertion. I get much more than Johanna, because I'm pregnant. I can tell when she shoves her empty tray away that she wants more. "Here," I sigh, holding out my hand. She puts her tray into it, and I dump a little more food into it and rip my remaining roll in half.

"Katniss," Peeta and Johanna say at the same time. They look at each other, Peeta amused, Johanna annoyed.

"You need that," she snaps.

"Shut up and take it," I say back. She rolls her eyes, but eventually, she takes the tray from my hand. She doesn't thank me, and I don't really need her to. So I turn to Peeta and ask, "So, when are the doctors coming?"

Peeta looks at his watch and says, "Probably in ten minutes or so, I think. Haymitch says they're coming to look at the baby."

"Look at her? How?" I ask, shoveling mashed potatoes into my mouth and taking an enormous gulp of water.

"I don't know, some machine they have," he answers, touching my face gently with his fingers. "No need to worry." I nod at him, but really, his words don't help. I don't think there will ever come a time that I don't worry. After my father died, all I've done is worry. Worry about my family starving, worry if I would ever get my mother back from her crippling depression, worry about being reaped. Worry about surviving the Games, worry about losing Peeta to the infection in his leg. The list goes on and on. There's always a need to worry, whether Peeta believes so or not.

"Can Johanna stay?" I ask.

"Don't know," says Peeta. He takes a drink of my water. "I don't see why not." I finish eating, and find that I also want more. But I don't say anything, because I don't want to make Johanna feel guilty for eating some of my food. So I don't talk while Johanna and Peeta chatter away about his day and the war. Peeta tells her that every district, with the exception of One and Two, is in rebellion. President Coin and Plutarch are eager for me to be well enough to start making propos, because the sight of Peeta, me, and Johanna will inspire the rebels to keep fighting. A hovercraft was sent out to check for survivors in Twelve an hour ago, as well as another hovercraft to pick up Cinna, Portia, and Effie. That same hovercraft, Plutarch said, is tasked with trying to extract Annie Cresta from District 4.

"Why?" I finally ask. "She isn't part of this." Peeta looks at Johanna, and there's something hesitant in his expression.

"Because Finnick made Plutarch promise that, if he was captured, to try and get Annie out before they could take her, too," Peeta explains, still looking at Johanna. I glance over at her, too. Her face looks hard and sullen, like it always does. The only indication that she's bothered is the way she hits her fists against her leg, almost absentmindedly.

"That's what he would've wanted," is all she says. I look at my hands. I wish Finnick were here. It isn't fair, really, that finding him was less of a priority than getting Peeta and me out. Sure, people rallied around me and everything, but Finnick had suffered so much more than I had. The prostitution, Annie, everything. According to Johanna, he'd done more for the rebellion than anyone else we were with in the arena. It wasn't fair.

The door slides open then, breaking into my sad, angry reverie. A woman in a white coat walks in; she has dark brown skin and hair. I recognize her from somewhere.

That's when she says my name and I realize that, of course I recognize her, she's Johanna's and my doctor. My concussion must really be worse than I thought it was. I give her a feeble smile.

"Hi, Mrs. Mellark," she says amicably.

"Don't call me that," I almost snap. "Call me Katniss, please. And anyway, it's Everdeen-Mellark." I don't even care that I'm being rude. I'm too nervous about her being here to care.

"Alright," replies the doctor. "Do you remember my name?" she addresses both of us, and I look at Johanna helplessly. I don't remember her name, and from the look on Johanna' face, neither does she. "That's okay," she laughs. "I'm Dr. Borley."

"Hi," I say hesitantly. She smiles at me and pulls a machine into the room behind her. I flinch when I look at it, even though it doesn't look inherently evil. It has a small screen on it, like a television. There are a few instruments in her hand that connect to the machine. I take a deep breath.

"What does that do?" Peeta asks, the same apprehensive look in his eyes.

"This is a machine I'll be using to get a look at the baby," she explains. She pulls a chair up next to my bed and starts taking my own vital signs.

"Can Johanna stay?" I blurt out.

"Of course she can," Dr. Borley responds, still taking my pulse. She writes something down on a chart, and adds, "I'll have to check her vitals after I'm done with you." I nod and she moves down her checklist of things to check. Johanna gets out of her bed and pulls a chair up next to me as well. Peeta is standing close to my head, and he runs his hands down my face and hair. I wonder if he knows how much easier it is to calm down when he does this. I smile at him.

Eventually, the doctor starts fiddling with the machine, and she turns to me and says, "Will you pull your shirt up for me?" I look at her nervously and nod, pulling up the thin gray shirt they gave me when I got here. My stomach is growing every day, and I'm almost embarrassed that the doctor is eye level with it. I look up at Peeta, who seems to know that I'm terrified.

"Katniss," the doctor says, her voice very calm and assured. "I'm going to put this gel on your stomach. It's going to be cold." I nod and look from Peeta and Johanna, who each have a grip on one of my hands. My breathing starts to accelerate and I'm afraid I'm going to have a panic attack.

"What will that do?" Peeta asks.

"It's going to allow us to see your child," explains Dr. Borley. "That's all." She looks directly in my eyes. I feel an almost eerie calm settle over me. "You don't need to panic, Katniss. There's nothing to be afraid of." I nod but grip Johanna and Peeta's hands so tightly I'm sure they both want to slap me.

I close my eyes and feel something cold against my stomach. Not long after, something else presses into my stomach. It isn't until I hear something odd that my eyes fly open. "What is that?" I ask, looking at the doctor. She grins at me widely.

"That's your baby's heartbeat," she says. I look over at Peeta, whose eyes are full of tears.

"Her heart?" he asks, putting his hands over his mouth in awe. "That's her little heart?" Something odd steals over my heart. Looking at Peeta, listening to our child's heart beat so quickly, something like love, love for him and love for this little being whose heart beats inside of me, washes over me. I squeeze his hand even tighter, and turn my attention back to the doctor, who moves the—I'm not sure what to call it, it's a handheld device that's about the size of my phone at home—the thing over my belly in different spots. She points at the television monitor.

"That's your baby," she says. I look at the screen and that's when I am completely won over. The thing looks odd enough on the screen, hard to make out at first. But I realize, after a moment, that the little gray thing I'm staring so hard at is my baby's head. My hands fly up to my mouth when I start to decipher its head and it's little body on the black background. I can't see what it looks like, of course, but there it is. Living proof that she's alive, that she's really inside of me.

"Oh my God," I whisper into my hands. Something like a smile comes on my face, and I look at Peeta. This time, he's honest to God crying. He touches the screen with his finger. He's incapable of saying anything, because there are tears running down his face and then he kisses me roughly, in front of Johanna and the doctor. I don't care. This is our child, this is a life we created, that our love created.

"Wow," Johanna says. I'd almost forgotten she was there, but when I turn and look at her, there's an awestruck look on her face. Like she's never seen anything like it. "It has a huge head."

I choke out a laugh, because there are a few tears on my face, too, and reach for her hand again.

"Well, the rest of the body will catch up to the head growth soon enough," chortles Dr. Borley. She prints a few pictures off for us, and they come right out of the machine. Peeta takes them and studies them again, sniffling and wiping his nose. "Do you want to know the sex?"

At this point, I hardly even care if the baby is a boy or a girl. I just want it to be healthy. But Peeta nods at her, gripping my hand like a vice.

"It's a boy," she says, smile on her face. She wipes the goo off of my stomach and I try to envision it. I'd been picturing a little girl, same as Peeta, same as my mother. But a swell of excitement comes into my stomach when I think of him, because he could look exactly like Peeta. I could teach my son how to hunt and trap and fish and everything my own father taught me. When I think of Peeta with a little boy, my heart feels like it's full to bursting.

"Wha—a-a-boy?" Peeta gasps. The tears that had just stopped have started again. "I was so sure it was a girl!"

"Are you disappointed?" I ask.

"No, I-I—wow, I'm going to have a son!" Peeta gets out. He falls into a chair that the doctor has pushed underneath him. "Haymitch Mellark."

"Haymitch Mellark," I repeat. The grin that comes onto my face is so wide my face feels like it will split in half. The doctor packs up the machine, ruffles around in her bag, and slides a few pieces of paper towards me.

"Some paperwork for you two to fill out before the birth," Dr. Borley explains. Johanna squeezes my hand one more time and goes to lay down on her own bed. Peeta kisses me again, and we're so full of joy and happiness that we forget our troubles for just a few moments. Son. Our son. We're having a son.

The doctor quickly takes Johanna's vital signs and moves for the door. "When can we get out of here?" Johanna snaps. Despite Johanna's rudeness, the doctor smiles.

"Now," remarks Dr. Borley. "Listen, I'm only recommending you two for release because I know you're miserable cooped up in here. After the lives you two have lived, I don't think it's particularly fair that you're miserable any longer than you have to be due to a couple of concussions. But it's really important that you don't overdo it out there. At least eight hours of sleep every night. No physical activity other than walking, at least for a week. You both need to come back every day for a shot of pain medicine for your heads, because they'll be hurting," advises the doctor. "I'm doing you both a favor, because I respect you and I respect your need to be doing something. But don't mess it up, or you'll be back in here for another two weeks."

Finally, Johanna grins at her. "Thanks," she says, actual gratefulness in her tone.

"Yeah, thank you," I agree. I feel kind of bad now, because Johanna and I haven't been very nice to her since we got to Thirteen. And now she's doing us a favor.

"Don't screw it up," she says with a small smile. Peeta thanks her one last time before she closes the door.

We all gape at each other after the door slides closed. Firstly, the knowledge that Peeta and I are having a boy has us all grinning. Secondly, Johanna and I are both elated that we're getting the hell out of the hospital. We're completely still for a minute before we leap out of bed. I grab the only possessions I have in Thirteen—the parachute, the spile, and the pearl Peeta gave me—from my beside table and together, we leave. Peeta shows us to our compartment—1262—and tells us that he has to get back to his schedule. If I were him, I'd ignore it completely, but he's nicer than me. He kisses me quickly—I wish it hadn't been so quick—tells me he loves me, and leaves. I scowl.

The compartment is small and gray, like everything else. But there's a decent size bed in one room with a crib of some kind next to it, and a smaller bed in what I'm assuming is Johanna's room. A sofa and low table in the living room, and a tiny bathroom just off the living room. No kitchen, because food is under lock and key here in 13. There's a small slot in the wall by the door, which I assume spits out the weird tattoo that Peeta had on his arm today. I put my few possessions on top of the dresser and walk into Johanna's room. She's scowling.

I sit next to her on the bed. I don't ask her what's wrong, or if there's anything wrong at all. She's almost always scowling. But so am I.

"I know why you're really living with me," she says suddenly, looking at me with a scornful look in her eyes.

"I know you do," I say back evenly. I expected her to see through the baby nonsense and see the real reason. That I didn't want her to be alone. I didn't expect her to bring it up, though.

"Thanks," she spits out. I don't know why she's being so hostile, but I brush it off. Standing up, I move to go to the bathroom. "I don't want you to feel bad for me."

"I don't," I respond, surprised. I turn around and look at her. "You're my friend, brainless," I say sarcastically, mocking her. "You're my friend and I don't want you to be alone. You'd have done the same if Peeta was taken. I don't pity you."

She looks at me speculatively for a while, and it takes a few minutes for the hostility to fall from her face. She doesn't look soft and vulnerable when it does, though. She looks like Johanna. Hardened and tough and sarcastic and _strong._ I go to the bathroom, emptying my bladder for what feels like the thousandth time today. I look at myself in the mirror. There is an enormous lump on my forehead, ringed by a massive purple and blue bruise. The scabs I got from the poisonous fog have gone, so my skin looks relatively normal. Just this hideous bruise. I look down at my arm where Johanna cut out my tracker, which is still bandaged because she dug so deep. I take my hair out of my braid and let it fall in waves over my shoulders. It helps dull my headache a little.

When I walk out of the bathroom, Johanna is pacing around the compartment. "What?" I ask, startled.

"Let's go walk around," she blurts out. "We've been laying around since we were rescued. I need to exercise."

"Okay," I say. I walk back into the bathroom and pick my wedding rings off the sink where I left them. Jamming them on my slightly swollen fingers, I walk back out and say, "My forehead looks disgusting."

"How's mine?" she asks, touching it gingerly. I study her bruises. They're just as bad, if not worse, than mine.

"Disgusting," I reply. "I didn't realize I hit you so hard. Sorry."

"Let's go," is all she says, and we walk out of the compartment into the gray of District 13. "I hope you remember the compartment number."

"Me, too." For a couple of hours, we ride the elevators up as high as they go, and ride them down so far we're miles and miles underneath bedrock. I'd no idea that District 13 was so _massive._ The people we cross either look at us with admiration or wariness, like they're not sure they can trust us. I'm sure we look a little odd to them, matching bruises on our heads and bandages on our forearms. I could care less what we look like to them. Johanna growls at a teenage boy that stares a little too long, which makes me burst into laughter. It's the best I've felt since we got here, if you don't count when Peeta and I found out the baby was a boy.

We wander for hours, not looking for anything in particular. It's just nice to be out of the hospital and walking around, almost like we're free. We talk and laugh and manage to stay upbeat even though it's bleak here, underground.

Around four o'clock, I hear a familiar huffing behind me. I spin around and am rewarded with Haymitch's red, blotchy face. "Where were you?" he snaps, stopping to put his hands on his knees and catch his breath. "I've run all over this damn place looking for you."

I ignore his question and ask, "Are they alive? What's wrong?"

He holds up his hand like he's asking for a minute but I slap it away, annoyed. Finally, he puffs out, "Yes, Katniss, they're alive. Your mom and sister, the Hawthornes, even Peeta's dad and brothers made it. A thousand other people did, too, thanks to Gale."

"Wait, Peeta's mom didn't?" I ask.

"No," says Haymitch, straightening up. "He didn't seem that upset, though. He's in Command with everyone else. That's another reason I came to find you. You're both wanted there."

"Why?" I ask immediately. I know I shouldn't be so suspicious of these people, because they saved us. But suspicion of everything and everyone is my first instinct. Peeta has barely told us anything about President Coin, even though he's only met her twice.

"Hell if I know," he mutters. "They just sent me to get you." Johanna shrugs, and I guess I do, too. We follow Haymitch to the closest elevator and the thing rattles and creaks as it takes us even further underground. I feel like I'm in a tomb, so far underground that I'll never be able to breathe right again. I shudder. I've never liked being underground; I hated the tours of the mines we had to go on in school. After my father died, I would make myself so sick in anticipation of it that my mother would keep me home from school because she thought I had the flu. I shudder again, goosebumps rising up on my arms. I don't like it down here, not at all.

Finally, the elevator comes to a stop. Haymitch hurries out and we follow him grudgingly. He scowls over his shoulder at us and Johanna shouts to tell him we can't walk too fast, it's the doctor's orders. So he slows down enough that we can keep him in sight. I look at Johanna and sigh, "I don't like it down here and I'm suspicious of these people."

"Me, too," she tells me. "I just keep thinking that they could've intervened at any point in the last seventy-five years. Plutarch says that they were waiting for the right person—which would obviously be you—but it just seems like there's something more than that," ruminates Johanna. She looks thoughtful for a minute, then laces her arm through mine. "Sorry. I just feel better when there's something to hang on to."

"No, it's fine," I murmur, even though I'm unused to people other than Peeta and my family touching me. But Johanna seems to be a fairly touchy person, so I'm learning to deal with it. It isn't like she hangs all over me all the time, because she doesn't. It's just like she said: she likes having someone to hang on to. Someone's hand to hold on to. Probably as a result of the last few years totally alone. So I let her take my hand or put her arm through mine, because she needs it. And frankly, sometimes it's nice to have someone to hang on to when Peeta isn't there. It makes me feel stronger. Eventually Haymitch stops and goes through a door, and we follow him. It's a nondescript gray room, with the exception of one wall completely covered with screens. And the table full of people in gray uniforms. My eyes search the room until they land on Peeta's blond head. He's deep in conversation with a gray haired woman, so Johanna and I find seats at the end of the table. As soon as we sit down, the room gets quiet. Eyes move towards me. I start sweating, because I've never liked when people look at me like this.

Finally, the gray haired woman next to Peeta nods at the rest of the room. To my immense relief, nearly everyone stands up and goes to leave. Plutarch, Beetee—who survived but is in a wheelchair—Haymitch, Peeta, Johanna, and I stay, along with a tall, dark man and the gray haired woman

As soon as the room is empty, the gray haired woman moves around my side of the table. I stand up, unsure what to do. But she just grasps my hand and said, "Miss Everdeen, what an honor it is to meet you. You're a courageous young woman."

"Thank you," I murmur. "My last name is Everdeen-Mellark, though. I got married."

"I'm sorry, I must've forgotten," she says. Her eyes aren't cold, like I expected them to be. They're reasonably warm, but a little detached. They're also gray. Not the color of my eyes, but a light gray, like the color of slush that you wish would melt away. "I know this must be disorienting," she continues, reaching over to shake Johanna's hand. She addresses both of us when she says, "I can't imagine what it's like to live through the atrocities of those Games." She puts her arm on my shoulder, but looks at both of us. I have a sudden urge to throw her arm off, even though she doesn't seem bad. Her touch is unfamiliar and I don't like it. She adds, "Please know how welcome you both are. I hope you find some comfort with us."

I have no idea what to say, so I'm saved when Plutarch quips, "Katniss, Johanna, this is President Alma Coin. Peeta met her yesterday, but she was too busy to come to the hospital to make the introductions."

"That's okay," I say. Johanna and I move to chairs next to Peeta, by the head of the table. I smile at Beetee and pat him on the shoulder. I'd honestly been too worried about my family since we arrived to think about him. I feel guilty. He smiles back, his brown skin looking a little paler than usual. When I sit next to Peeta, he smiles at me. Kisses my cheek. Takes my hand. Johanna doesn't realease my arm, though, which makes the logistics of it a little awkard.

"Do you know what's happened?" President Coin asks me, settling into her chair. She smiles at me and says, "When you fired your arrow into that force field, you electrified the nation. Ten districts are in full-scale rebellion, and we hope we can use this momentum to unify all of the districts against the Capitol."

I nod, trying to figure out how to respond, but Plutarch saves me again. "Now, you know all of this. I'm sure Peeta's told you that he's filmed a propaganda spot, I like to call them propos, telling the nation that you are alive and well, and so is the baby. He also called on the districts to keep fighting, et cetera, et cetera," he says in that annoying, grandiose voice of is. "What we need from you—and Johanna—is to join Peeta in the making of these propos."

"How? How can you broadcast all over Panem?" Johanna asks skeptically. I'm studying the uniform straightness of Coin's hair. I wonder if it's a wig. Hair shouldn't be straight as hers, it's unnatural.

"It helps that I designed their broadcasting system," says Beetee quietly. "I managed to break in—I'd forgotten how complex I'd made it-and every district in the country saw Peeta's message."

"Did the Capitol see it?" I ask abruptly.

"No," answers Beetee. "Their signal defense system is too complicated. I designed that one, too, but at the time I was just thinking the science of it all. I never thought I'd need to break into it."

I look away from Beetee and look at Haymitch. He's still sweaty and shaking, and I'm almost certain he's about to vomit. So I look instead at President Coin, who is friendly and warm enough. But there's something that bothers me about her, and I can't quite put my finger on it. Maybe it's that she was so quick to leave Finnick and Chaff behind. Maybe it's her creepy gray eyes. I try and dismiss my unease. She and Plutarch rescued us, and besides, she's been nice and welcoming. Maybe my problem is that I'm instantly distrusting of nice people. Probably why I trusted Finnick and Johanna so quickly—neither of them are what you'd call _nice_. Finnick was overtly sexual and his demeanor was cool when I first met him. Johanna was and is hostile and sullen. But both of them are loyal.

"So you want me to—what? Record propos while my friends are being tortured in the Capitol?" I ask, trying to channel every bit of the Johanna Mason that lurks inside of me. "I'm all for rebellion, but it isn't fair that they were left behind. If you can tell me, honestly, that you have a plan to rescue them, I'll join you. But that's my condition."

Coin sighs, but she doesn't react to my hostility. Just looks at me speculatively. It's silent in the room, but she eventually says, "We'll rescue them at the earliest possible opportunity. You have my word. If I need to convince you even further, I'll even give them immunity for whatever they may say under duress."

"That isn't enough," Johanna snaps. "It's easy to go back on 'your word' when you have so few witnesses. Announce it. To your district."

"Alright," she says indifferently. "Once the refugees from Twelve arrive, I'll hold a national security assembly and announce it then. Do you have any other conditions?"

I think for a moment. "Only one. For the moment," I emphasize. I want this woman to know that I hold all of the cards, not her. That if I have another condition, it will be granted. She nods. "When our child is born, I want you to refrain from using him in more than one or two propos. I understand that you'll want to country to see him, and that's why I'll allow it. But no more than that. I don't want him to be exposed any more than he needs to be."

"That's understandable. Peeta has already made this a stipulation of his own agreement," nods Coin. Of course he has. His mind seems to be on the same wavelength as my own much of the time. I squeeze his hand under the table and, not caring if we're around strangers, kissing me on the side of my head. Finally, I look at Haymitch, because he's surely noticed that we've stopped calling the baby 'her.' He's looking down at his hands, his lips pressed together like he's fighting a smile.

"Yes," Peeta says to the room. "In about four months, there will be another Haymitch running around."

"Well, congratulations," Coin says with a smile. "That's certainly good news." Even if I don't trust her, her enthusiasm is genuine. Peeta must see that, too, because he reaches into his pocket and pulls out the pictures Dr. Borley gave us. He hands them to her.

"Dr. Borley said that Katniss is around 19 weeks pregnant," says Peeta proudly. I look around the room to see the reception. Beetee is smiling, reaching his hands out for the photos. Haymitch has his weird, sick, repressed smile on his face. The tall, dark man—Boggs, I remember now, he greeted us when we arrived, even though I was half-conscious—has a small smile on, too, and I wonder how many people across the country were overjoyed for us. Even in Thirteen. I don't have to look at Johanna to know she's grinning.

Beetee laughs when he sees the photos, for no other reason, it seems, but because he's happy for us. He moves his fingers over where little Haymitch's head is, and hands the photos to the adult Haymitch. Haymitch looks at them the longest, an indecipherable emotion on his face. Eventually he hands them to the Boggs guy.

"So, I have a question," I say while Boggs looks at the photos. "It isn't anything serious. I'm just curious. Did you watch the Games in Thirteen?"

"Yes," Coin responds, her brow furrowed. "Why do you ask?"

"I was just wondering. . . how?"

"The same way, essentially, we've hacked into their broadcasting system," answers Beetee. "Different systems exist for the actual broadcasting of programs than for connecting to watch these broadcasts. It's much simpler. I would explain, but I'm sure it would bore you to death."

"You're right," says Johanna. When the photos make their way back to us, the atmosphere in the room gets more serious. Coin looks at Johanna.

"I assume, Ms. Mason, that you'll be participating in the effort?" Coin asks.

"Sure," responds Johanna. "Don't know why you need me, though, if you have them."

"Would you like me to be blatantly honest with you, Ms. Mason?" asks Coin, leaning forward. I study her. Still seems warm and friendly. I can't decide whether or not she is actually a good person or if it's all an act.

"Obviously," snaps Johanna.

"I don't need you _as much_ as I need Katniss and Peeta. I don't even need Peeta as much as I need Katniss," she says, not unkindly. "But I still need both of you. Because you're young and attractive, and because you're victors. Frankly, your outburst during your pre-Games interview showed me that you've got guts. You're brave. We need that right now."

"Alright," says Johanna uncomfortably. She is uncomfortable with praise. "I'll do it. Especially if it will help Finnick."

"It will," says Coin, leaning back into her chair. "One more thing, all of you. The refugees from Twelve are arriving here in the morning. We've had to wait to evacuate them from the forest, as there are nearly a thousand of them. The hovercraft we sent to confirm that your families were alive was much too small to evacuate many of them, so we're sending a fleet of hovercraft at first light to bring them to Thirteen, where they'll be given automatic citizenship."

A massive sigh of relief leaves my chest, and I can finally, finally breathe. My family is safe, and they'll be with me again in the morning. Prim. My mom. Gale. His family. Even Peeta's dad and brothers. I look at Peeta, who's looking at our intertwined hands, and my stomach drops again. I've forgotten that his mother must've died in the bombing.

"I expect all of you," she looks around the room. "To set a good example for the refugees to follow. Follow your schedules." There's a nod of assent around the room, and Coin looks at her watch. "It's nearly dinner time. One more thing before we go. Katniss and Johanna, you're supposed to be taking it easy for another week or so, correct? That's what I thought. We'll begin recording some simple propos tomorrow, but nothing serious until you're healed. We can discuss that more at our next meeting. See you in the morning," she finishes. Businesslike.

"Wait," I cry out, unable to stop myself. "When will Cinna and the others arrive? Effie? Portia? Did you manage to extract Annie Cresta?"

Coin looks at her watch. "They had to take a circuitous route, and they left at around 10:30. I'd say they'll arrive close to ten," she says. "They managed to get Annie Cresta, but I have no updates on the condition on any of them."

"Can you send someone for us, then? When they arrive?" I ask, not even directing my question at her in particular.

It's Haymitch who answers. "I'll come get you myself."

"Make sure I'm there," inserts Johanna. "Besides Haymitch, I'm the only person Annie will recognize. She'll be panicking and seeing things, especially because Finnick isn't here. She needs a familiar face." Coin and Haymitch both nod, effectively dismissing us.

PB

We settle on the sofa after dinner, Peeta rubbing my feet while I rest my shoulders against Johanna. It's almost like what Peeta said in our first Games, about Peeta and Haymitch and me sitting around a fire telling old Hunger Games tales.

"I mean, they didn't even notice me!" Johanna chuckles, taking a drink of water. "I'd convinced them that I was such a non-threat they didn't even see me sneaking into the Cornucopia to get an axe and a backpack. Idiots." I stare at her, unable to reconcile the sniveling, sobbing girl she pretended to be with the hardened, hostile girl in front of me. Hostile isn't the right word, not now. I mean, she's hostile to almost everyone, even me, a lot of the time. But her hostility is a front against being vulnerable. Certainly she's tough and rude and callous. But the hostility is a defense, I think. Like closing myself off from others is my defense.

Peeta laughs at her, "I watched your Games and I believed it. Now that I actually know you, I have no idea how anyone fell for that act."

"Well, when you have everything to lose, you can manipulate just about anyone," she remarks. I feel blood rush to my face, and I know that Peeta is thinking the same thing as I am.

So I'm quick to point out, "But I actually did fall in love with Peeta in the Games. It was only an act at the very beginning, before I actually knew him. I was just too stupid to realize what love was." This time Johanna laughs, and Haymitch joins in.

"Stupid would be the word," he sneers. I throw a water bottle at his face. He doesn't catch it. After scowling at me, he finally asks, "So why Haymitch? You could've chosen a thousand different names for the kid."

"Because I hope our kid turns out just like you," I retort. "A sullen, hostile drunk who sleeps with a knife."

"Cheers to that," Haymitch replies, while Peeta laughs. It's almost. . . fun, sitting here with the people I care about. It doesn't seem fair, really, because most of the nation is embroiled in a war. But for the moment, it's light and freeing. The only thing that's missing is my family. "Well, sweetheart, I'm touched. I really am." His tone is sarcastic, and neither of us say what we'd really like to. _Thank you for taking care of us so well. For always being there to help, even though you didn't have to. For keeping us alive. _I'm not sure what he'd say. Maybe 'thank you for finally coming into my life and giving me someone to care about.' I don't know.

Instead, I say, "Don't be. It was Peeta's idea."

Peeta laughs and says something to Johanna and she launches into another story, this time about District 7. I tune out the chatter, because it's just nice to listen to conversation and laughter and something other than quiet misery. After a while, I get up and tell them that I'm going to lay down, even though it's only eight-thirty.

"Should I come with?" asks Peeta.

"No, sweetheart, it's okay," I tell him, leaning down to kiss him. _Thank God for this,_ I find myself thinking. "Stay out here and have fun. Come get me when they're back."

"I love you," he murmurs, pulling me in for another kiss.

"Me, too," I say back. I go and hug Johanna with one arm.

"Don't I get a kiss?" she sneers. I ignore her and kick Haymitch in the leg on my way to the bedroom.

I fall asleep almost as soon as my head hits the pillow. I have a few confusing dreams, one where Rue leads me through a quiet woods, singing to me. Another where a tree bursts into flames and begins to scream my name. The third is unnerving. I'm standing in front of a crowd of people, and I cannot move. They're all murmuring and whispering, but I can't make out a single word of what they say. I scream at them to tell me what they're saying, but they don't answer. They just keep whispering and looking at me like I'm being strung to a whipping post. Finally, I pick out Peeta's face in the crowd. He's standing next to Johanna, and they're both scared. I scream their names, but they don't come. Peeta's face has tears running down it, but they don't move. I realize that they, too, cannot move. They cannot do anything but whisper. When I look up, I am hanging beneath a gallows, rope around my neck. But I am still alive. When I look to my left, dangling and trying to cry out, I see President Snow, smiling at me with blood on his teeth, spooning a mouthful of ashes into his mouth.

I jolt awake, silent but thrashing with terror. I realize, after a few moments of trying to calm my beating heart, that there are voices outside. I panic again, not really knowing where I am, but I calm down when I hear one of the voices belongs to Peeta. I strain my ears, just to take in the familiar, comforting tones.

". . . that she died. I mean, all she did. . .me mercilessly. Always yelling and threatening and hitting me." His voice is quiet, and drifts in and out.

"And your dad?" I hear another voice ask. Johanna.

"He tried to stop her. . . just beat him around the head with a rolling pin," he replies. "I'm not exactly sad that she died. I just wish she'd been a better mother so I _could_ be sad. Is that horrible of me?"

"No," says Johanna. "Just because she's family doesn't mean she automatically deserved your love. Believe it or not, Peeta, family doesn't get a free pass on your love. They still have to earn it."

"I guess," he says. "You should've seen her, Johanna, when Katniss came with me to the bakery to tell them about the baby." He chuckles now. "Katniss, she—god, she was amazing. My mother spit in her face and Katniss didn't move an inch. She just said in the flat little voice of hers—you know the one, when she's really angry—for my mother to get out of her face." The love that saturates his voice is almost unbearable to listen to, and the warmth of it rushes through my chest. "My mother tried to hit me, punch me in the face and Katniss threw me behind her and took it instead. Again, she didn't even try to fight back. She just stared my mother down until I pulled her away."

"Your wife," begins Johanna, "she's something. When she told me to lay off of Nuts in the arena. Girl wasn't even afraid of what I'd do." I move a little in bed, because I'm waking up more and more. I finally manage to pull myself into a sitting position. "You know, Peeta, I've never seen someone love another person the way she loves you."

He chuckles, "What way is that?"

"I don't know," she says carefully. "She isn't particularly warm or kind, even to you, but anyone paying attention can see it."

"See what?" Peeta's voice is serious now, like whatever she says is important to him.

"That she'd rather die than let you go," says Johanna. "She told me about when you hit the force field. She said she wanted to die right there next to you."

It's weird to hear them talking like this about me, like they've been friends their whole lives. I don't really care that Johanna told him that, because maybe it's something he needs to know. That he needs to hear, from time to time, that my life would be unlivable without him. "I—I just-I don't know, Johanna, I'm afraid sometimes that this is more than she asked for. At home, she'd shut herself away in the spare bedroom for no reason and wouldn't come out for hours. I would beg and beg for her to come out, but she'd just, I don't know—shut herself off. Then at other times, she'll start screaming at me for leaving the house without telling her, and she'll be vicious and mean and we'll fight for hours."

"Don't be brainless," Johanna retorts. "Katniss is fucked up. We all are, in our own ways. She's afraid of letting someone in just to lose them again. That's all it is."

"How do you know?" Peeta asks desperately.

"Because I'm the same way," Johanna answers dismissively.

"You let Katniss in pretty quickly," shoots back Peeta.

"Because she's just like me. Peeta, I won the Games four years ago and the only friends I've made are Finnick and Katniss. Sure, me and Haymitch fuck from time to time, but it's just casual. You're moving up in the ranks, but. . . I don't know. I've known Katniss for like, two weeks, and it feels like it's been two years. You don't find that with someone very often," Johanna says, something soft creeping into her tone. "Just Finnick and Katniss."

"She doesn't understand, even now, the effect she can have," says Peeta gently.

"You love her a lot," says Johanna, after swallowing loudly.

"I'd give up the entire world if it meant having her," says Peeta again in that gentle tone. "Regardless of how she feels about me, even if she didn't love me back, I'd rather die than let her go." I feel guilty and ashamed that I've made him doubt me so often, but Peeta's word light a fire somewhere inside of me, and it's hard to put out. _I'd give up the entire world if it meant having her._ But I don't get up, don't find the man who can kindle that fire into an inferno with his eyes and his lips and his body. Instead, I lie there for a while, because I would be embarrassed if they knew I was eavesdropping. The topic turns to something mundane, and I hear a loud snore come from Johanna's room. Haymitch must've decided to crash here while we wait for them to get back. I hear Peeta ask Johanna what time it is, but I don't catch her answer. So I roll over and try to go back to sleep, their gentle voices running together and lulling me into a dreamless sleep.

PB

"Katniss, sweetheart," Peeta's gentle voice drifts into my hazy blue dreamworld. I groan, because I don't want to move out of this warm bed. "Sweetheart," he says again, shaking me gently.

"Wake up, idiot!" I hear Johanna snap, and suddenly light turns the back of my eyelids red.

"Johanna," Peeta chides. "You didn't have to do that. She was waking up."

"They're here!" Johanna yells from the bathroom. Grudgingly, I open my eyes and see Peeta's face hovering over me. Before I say anything, I pull him down to the bed, and hug him. Remembering his and Johanna's conversation—the one I'd overheard while I was half asleep—I kiss him lingeringly, and he brushes his fingers through my hair.

"I love you," I whisper. "So much I'd rather die than let you go." The words give away my eavesdropping, but I don't care. I don't want him to think I'm pulling away or that I don't love him or that our relationship is more than I bargained for. "There are a lot of reasons why I am the way that I am, but none of them have to do with uncertainty. Johanna was right."

"I love you more," is all he says back, kissing me again. We kiss each other sloppily until Johanna bangs the bathroom door and tells me to hurry 'the fuck' up. Remembering Cinna, I crawl out of bed and change into my District 13 uniform, braid my hair, and follow the others out the door. Haymitch looks about as awake as I am.

We hurry our way through the hallways, wait impatiently in elevators, and hurry some more until we finally reach the hospital, where Haymitch said they'd be. The first person I see is Effie.

"Katniss!" she calls. I almost don't recognize her, because she doesn't have a wig or any makeup on. Her regular hair is blonde, and there's a long cut down the side of her face. Looking at her arms, I can see a few more, but I still rush forward and hug her.

"Effie! Are you alright? I didn't know you were with the rebels!" I gasp into her hair.

"I'm not," she sighs, "I may not be happy about the Games, but calling _me_ a rebel is a stretch. I'm a political refugee." I laugh, almost crying because I'm so happy to see her.

"Well, whatever you are, I'm so glad you're here." Peeta steps in to hug her tightly. "How's Cinna? Portia? The others?"

"Portia is fine," Effie tells us. She waves away a nurse who tries to clean the cut on her face. "Cuts and bruises. Cinna's head is badly damaged. We don't know how badly yet. He's conscious, though," she says with her usual bravado. "We only managed to get your prep team, Katniss. Peeta's wouldn't come, and it was only because Cinna begged that yours did. They're terrified." I nod at her and hug her once more before rushing off to hug Portia, who is being stitched up by a doctor. Peeta stays to talk to her, but I don't, because I'm desperate to find Cinna.

Eventually, I do. When I do, I almost get sick.

His head is so badly bruised I almost don't recognize him. His face is swollen and cut and there are several open cuts on his skull. I walk up to him and hug him gently, which is almost more than I can bear. "Cinna," I breathe. "How did you get out like this?"

He manages a mangled smile when he says, "It was get out or be tortured and die. Adrenaline can do marvelous things for you."

"God, I'm so glad you made it," I babble. "I've missed you terribly and there's so much that's happened, I need to—"

"Katniss," he interrupts. "Go to sleep. You look exhausted."

"I told them I'd be their Mockingjay," I whisper.

"That's my girl," he says back. "I'm still betting on you."

"You always were," I breathe. I hug him again. "I'll be back as soon as I wake up. Or should I stay with you tonight?"

"No, Portia will," he groans. I wince, because he looks truly beaten. Even after nearly a week since his beating, his bruising and swelling has not gone down. I nod at him and he gives me one ghostly smile before I walk out.

I pass by my prep team, who greets me tearfully and tells me how terrified they are and how they have no idea what's going on. I only stay long enough to tell them that everything's alright, they're in 13, the people are nice, and that I'll see them tomorrow.

When I find Peeta and Portia again, they're still talking. Peeta is frowning. "Portia," I say, hugging her again. Like Effie, she has no makeup on. She looks ragged. "Sorry I rushed by earlier. I just had to see him."

"It's fine, Katniss," she says. She smiles at me. "I was just telling Peeta how we got out. I'm happy to see you both."

"We're happy to see you," Peeta says, giving her a squeeze around the shoulders. "You should get some sleep."

"Oh, I forgot," I slap myself on the forehead and wince when I hit the spot where Johanna struck me with the spool. "Cinna's asking for you."

"I should go—" Peeta begins, but Portia cuts him off.

"No, Peeta, it's alright. I'll tell him you said hello," she says sadly, and waves goodbye at us.

We slide down the wall and sit in silence on the floor, waiting for Johanna and Haymitch, and Peeta slides an arm around me. I lean into him, sagging with exhaustion and anger. Cinna. He was beaten to brutally just to unhinge me, but he managed to get out. He managed to escape. How, I have no idea, because he looks like he should be dead. But he's alive, and I'm angry, so angry over how hurt he is that I want to strangle President Snow. I want to see the light leave his eyes. For Cinna. For Finnick, who he's torturing now. For Chaff. Most of all, for District Twelve.

But all I tell Peeta is, "He's bad, Peeta, he's really bad."

He starts to say something, but we're both distracted by an earsplitting scream.


	29. Chapter 29

"No, Annie, Annie, do you remember me? I'm Johanna, Finnick's friend. Annie? Annie? No, you're not in the Games, neither is Finnick. Annie? Annie! You're safe, you're alive—no, Annie, the walls aren't shaking. Annie, that isn't real! Oh for God's sake Haymitch, you try talking to her." The commotion is coming from a different hallway, and Peeta jumps up to go help. I'm more hesitant, though, because in all honesty, I'm afraid of Annie Cresta. First, the fact that she killed so many people. Secondly, the horrifying dream she starred in. Third. I don't know how to deal with the insane. So I stay slumped against the wall.

"Annie," Haymitch starts in a surprisingly gentle, even tone. "Do you remember your Tour? You were in Twelve, do you remember? I talked to you before I passed out drunk at the bar. Tell me if you remember," he urges in that smooth tone.

"Yes," I hear her low, gravelly voice say. "Finnick said you were a good guy, even if you drank too much. Is that real or not real?"

"That's real," Haymitch says evenly.

"Is it real that we're in hell right now?"

"No," says Haymitch. "That's not real."

"Finnick," says Annie, her voice evening out and sounding less insane. "Where is he?" Haymitch doesn't say anything for a moment, but her low voice drops even lower until it's a rough, flat whisper, "Tell me where Finnick is or I'll kill you." My blood runs cold when I hear her speak. She isn't only crazy, she's terrifying. But she speaks again not long after, and I realize I can't see Peeta anymore. There is something gentle and soft in her rough voice when she says, "You have blue eyes."

"Yeah, I do," says Peeta gently. My heart seizes up and I get up from the floor and run down the hallway, but pause before I turn into the hallway that they're in. "You have green eyes."

"I knew a boy with blue eyes like yours, once," says Annie. Her voice is no longer flat and terrifying, but a normal gravelly tone. "His head was cut off."

"I remember him, too, Annie," says Peeta in a gentle voice. "He was in the Games with you. He loved you."

"I loved him, too. His eyes were the color of the sky. Then I loved Finnick. Finnick's eyes are green like mine." Annie gives a great heaving sob and I turn the corner. "Now they're both gone."

It's easy to forget that Annie Cresta, like Finnick, is a great beauty. Her skin is a caramel color—the color you'd get if you mixed the fair white of Peeta's skin with the silky brown of Thresh's. Her eyes are large and slanted and the same dreamlike sea green of Finnick's eyes. Perfect, small nose. Slanting cheekbones. Some of the fullest lips I've ever seen. Annie Cresta's face is a work of art. But people forget, because she's insane.

She puts her fingers in her dark, curly hair and sobs again. After a minute or two of this, she puts her hands over her ears and starts talking. "There's a beast who cuts off heads. Is that real?"

"No," says Peeta gently. "There are no beasts here. We're in District 13."

"Oh," she laughs, a little madly. She opens her eyes again and looks around. Her faces colors like she's embarrassed. "Sorry, I—my—the head doct—" she stops short when she sees me. For a moment, her brown skin turns almost chalk white. I put my hands up in a reconciliatory way, but she doesn't seem like she's going to attack me. She seems sad. Almost like she's seen a ghost. After another minute or two, the color returns to her face. But she keeps looking at me. "I killed someone that looked just like you, once. He was a boy."

"I know," I say to her. I'm not gentle like Peeta or hostile. I say the words baldly.

"Did you know him?" she asks.

"No," I tell her.

"He had gray eyes, just like yours." But she looks away from me then, and looks back at Haymitch. "Please tell me where Finnick is." Her spell of madness has passed and she seems almost normal. I'm struck by her beauty again. It seems like she pays almost no attention to it, though.

"Honey, Finnick is-he's-Finnick is in the Capitol," Haymitch sighs.

"Oh," she says, the sad look coming onto her face again. "Is he alive?"

"We think so," Johanna says. She looks at Annie the same way I do—warily.

"I'm sorry I threatened to kill you," she says to Haymitch in a little voice. "I've never really grown out of the habit."

"It's fine," he says. "Are you tired?" She nods. Not touching her at all—probably because he's scared out of his wits—he leads her down the hall to a hospital room.

"What," I say between my teeth. "In the hell was that?"

"You have to admit, she's a looker," Johanna says.

"I wish I knew why I'm terrified of her," I say.

"I do. The boy who beheaded her partner, boyfriend, whatever—she cut off his fingers and toes. And his hands and his feet. And his arms and legs," says Johanna in a flat voice. "Then she cut off his head. She was screaming bloody murder the whole time, but she was laughing, too. When she was done, she rubbed his blood all over her face."

"How many people did she kill again?" asks Peeta. We're all still looking down the hall where she disappeared with Haymitch.

"Eight, I think," says Johanna.

"Jesus," says Peeta.

"Still, that was weird," I say. "One minute she was screaming, next minute she's threatening to murder Haymitch, the next she was crying. Then the talking to herself and then she was almost totally calm. All in the span of like, five minutes." A shuddering yawn racks my body, and I try to hide it by putting my hand over my mouth.

"I thought it was weird how she was dead calm as soon as Haymitch said Finnick was in the Capitol," says Peeta. He tugs us both on the arms and we start the walk back to the compartment. I'm so exhausted I could fall asleep right here.

"It isn't, really, if you think about it," says Johanna. I sway a little on my feet, the pregnancy getting the better of my ability to stay awake, and Peeta lifts me into his arms the way he always does: my legs around his waist, my head on his shoulder. "She's gotten used to Finnick going to the Capitol all these years. You know. Maybe it calmed her down because it was familiar. Maybe she thinks he's just going to do his usual business there."

"Maybe," muses Peeta, but I'm already asleep.

PB

Annie haunts my dreams again. This time, I'm in a place that seems vaguely familiar. After a while, though, I decide I don't know where I am. It's a strange place; an ancient, crumbling city. The only notable thing about this place is the tall white tower in the middle. I shudder. I don't like the way this place feels. I whip my head back and forth, trying to gain a sense of my surroundings, but the wind blows my hair all around my face so I can't see. I decide to run away, to take shelter in one of these ancient buildings. When I run to one, though, the doors are locked. The doors on the next are locked, too. So I run to the white tower and go inside. Climb the endless stairs.

When I get to the top, I don't look out the windows. I don't really want to know where I am. I just want to stay here until whatever storm that's brewing outside blows over. So I sit down and I see that I'm not alone.

She's there, with a boy. He has hair black as my own, and olive skin. But his eyes are bright blue. They're sitting on the floor, looking at each other, not paying any attention to me. I feel uncomfortable, like I'm intruding on something. I'm not sure what, though. I try to leave the room, but there's an invisible wall stopping me. A sense of panic starts to rise up in me, because I just have a bad feeling about this place and I start wishing I'd never climbed up here.

"Katniss," a low, gravelly voice says. My breathing picks up. My heart starts slamming against my sternum. She's spotted me. "It's okay. He's gone now." I turn around and find that the boy really has gone. I breathe a sigh of relief. I get the sense that I've seen the boy somewhere else, perhaps in another dream, but I try to shake it off. I sit cross legged on the floor. "Why are you afraid of me?"

"I don't know," I tell her honestly. "You've killed a lot of people."

"So have you," she says. Despite how rough her voice sounds, I can't deny that it probably sounds attractive to men. I have a strange moment, then, of jealousy. "So have all of us."

"I know that," I say. I don't know what else I'm supposed to say, because in a way, she's right. I may not have trained for the Games, but I've killed people, too. I don't remember her Games all that well—just that her district partner was her boyfriend, that she killed a lot of people, and that she went insane—because it was the summer after my dad died. So I can't pinpoint why exactly it is that she scares me.

"The Games broke me," she says. I nod. She stands up and offers a hand to pull me to my feet. Hesitantly, I take it. I'm surprised by how _strong_ she is. She isn't that big of a person. She walks over to one of the windows, and points outside. "See over there? That's where I murdered the boy from your District. He looked like you. He had black hair and gray eyes. I didn't want to kill him. I looked into his eyes the entire time." I shudder again, because I don't want to hear this. She continues pointing out of the windows. "Here is where I murdered the girl from District 7. I asked her to join our alliance, but she wouldn't. So I had to kill her. Her eyes were brown. Like Johanna Mason's." I stare at her, wondering why she seems to be fixated on the color of people's eyes. "Here's where I killed the girl from Two. I didn't hate her, but she came for me. She started it. So I had to. I don't really remember what she looks like anymore." She shifts her body to the left a little. She's shorter than I am, but she's better built. Well-endowed, but with plenty of muscle. I can't imagine anyone trying to pick a fight with her. "Here's where I killed the boy from 1. We were allies, but someone else had already cut off his hands and ones of his arms. So I killed him, because I didn't want him to suffer. There," she points towards a long stretch of grass. She smiles. The weak sunlight reflects off of a gold horn. "I killed my first three. I took a knife in the back there, too. It didn't feel very good." She laughs, and it doesn't sound insane. "The last person I killed was over there." She doesn't say anything else about him, though. She drops her hand and sits back down on the floor.

"Why are you telling me all of this?" I ask.

"Because. We're not so different, you and I."

"Yes we are," I breathe. "We are."

The floor in the tower starts to shake.

"No, Katniss. We're all the same. All of us."

I try to run for the stairs, but the stairs suddenly collapse and I'm stuck up here.

"What's happening?" I scream at her, trying to claw her eyes out. "Let me out of here!" She laughs and flips me onto the ground as easily as she would if I were a fly she swatted.

"I can't," she whispers. "This is our penance. All of us."

Then the dam breaks and the tower crashes down at the same time and everything is shaking, shaking, shaking—I see faces under the water but I close my eyes—it's still shaking—

"Katniss," Peeta says, shaking me gently. I shoot straight up in bed, breathing hard. "You all right?"

"Yeah," I gasp, putting my hand on my chest like it'll slow my heartbeat down. "Bad dream."

"I figured," he frowns. "You usually scream, though. You didn't this time." Peeta pulls me into his arms and I bury my face in his neck. The familiar smell of him is instantly comforting.

"I was underwater," I say. "Couldn't scream. What time is it?"

"Eight-thirty," murmurs Peeta into my hair. My breathing spikes again, but this time, fear isn't the cause. "Your family should be here in a couple of hours."

"Then we have time," I say. I pull him so that he's on top of me, and he adjusts his weight so he's not putting any on my stomach. "Talk to me."

"About what?" he asks. I run my fingers up his bare abdomen. He shivers.

"Anything," I breathe. He looks down at me with that look in his eyes—that addictive, heady look that's love and lust and desire and reverence all in one—and the mood very subtly changes.

"I don't want to talk," murmurs Peeta, and his lips crash down on mine. It doesn't take long for me to catch up. When I try to take a breath, he closes the gap between us. When he pulls back, my lips find his again in seconds. When we kiss like this, the words Peeta spoke to me on our wedding night come back to me in perfect clarity. _Maybe it's just the universe telling you we were meant to collide._ Just as I know, in the core of my body, that these words were true, I know the words I spoke to Gale were a lie. _Maybe we would've ended up together._ No, I'd have found my way to Peeta eventually, eventually when thoughts of him and the bread and the dandelion got to be too much. I would've found him, and he would've been there, waiting for me. I know he would've always waited for me to find him.

"I love you," I whisper into his mouth. "More than anything in the world." He pulls my nightdress over my head and his lips fall to my neck.

"Katniss," he says, and he makes my name sound like a prayer. "You can't leave me." He's on top of me, taking my face in his hands, kissing me roughly. When he pushes into me, I gasp, but he doesn't stop talking. "You're my only dream," he murmurs, looking down at me while his hands grasp the headboard. A sound—half-moan, half-gasp—escapes my lips and his are there to quiet my own. As our movement picks up, as our bodies kindle a spark into a burning wildfire, I cling to him, and he to me. When it's nearly over, when we're both falling from dizzying heights, he only says one word. "Katniss."

After, we listen to each other's heartbeats. I don't know which is his and which is mine, and maybe that's the way it's supposed to be. When you _collide_ the way that we have, maybe you get tangled up and lost in each other until you don't know where one of you ends and the other begins. "I can't live without you," he breathes. "Everything that I have and everything I am belongs on you."

We look at each other then, and I know—know more surely than I've known anything in my life—that this would've happened anyway. That we were meant to collide. So I say, "I've always been yours. Even if I didn't know it then."

"I'd die without you," he says.

"Don't leave me," I say. His lips find mine then, but not in that desperate way they usually do. They find mine softly, gently, like we have all the time in the world. Maybe we do.

We're interrupted by Johanna. "God, _please_ tell me you're done in there!" she raps on the door insistently. My face turns bright red.

"Go away," says Peeta, smiling into my lips.

"If I thought the tacky romance drama was unbearable, having to listen to that was ten times worse," she snaps. She keeps knocking. I groan. "I'm bored, Katniss. And I'm hungry."

"Fine!" I yell at the door. Frustrated, I throw my pillow at it. I think she kicks the door. I'm not sure. "I'm seriously rethinking having her live with us."

"No, you're not," Peeta says, sitting up and pulling his shirt over his head. He gives me a crooked smile that makes my heart seize up. I crawl over to him and put my arms around him. My heart beats against his back. He kisses my forearm. "I love you, Katniss."

"I love you," I whisper. "What you said earlier. That you'd die without me."

"Yes," says Peeta, his face leaning against my arm. "What about it?"

"I know how you feel," I say lamely. After a minute, I add, "I'm giving you everything I have. Please don't take it away from me."

"How would I take it away from you?" he says curiously, turning to face me.

"By leaving. Or dying."

"Katniss," he murmurs, pushing a clump of hair behind my ear. "Nothing on this planet could make me leave you. Even a bullet to the heart. I'd still find a way back to you."

"Good," I whisper. I stroke his cheekbone with my thumb. I kiss him gently on the mouth. "Johanna is going to murder me if I don't go out there."

"Go," he chuckles. "I'll meet you later."

"Okay," I say. Unwillingly, I throw the drab District 12 uniform on. I walk out of the room, avoid Johanna's eyes, and go to the bathroom. Wash my face. Braid back my hair. Let the color drain out of my face. When I get outside, I've managed to make my face blank and impassive. "Let's go."

We walk to the cafeteria in silence. Technically we aren't supposed to be eating this late, but neither of us got a schedule. And there are certain perks to being famous. So we get breakfast anyway. We don't say anything over breakfast, either. Now that the bliss of my morning has passed, I'm incredibly nervous. What condition will everyone from Twelve be in? I don't know if Madge made it. God, I hope Madge made it out. Is my family injured? Gale? I start hitting my fists against my leg, the way Johanna does. She notices.

"Hey," says Johanna sharply. "No use doing that."

"I know," I snap. After a moment, I add in a softer tone, "Sorry. I'm nervous."

She waves her hand dismissively and, with a mouthful of hot grain, says, "They'll be fine, Katniss."

"You don't know that."

"It's called trying to make you feel better, brainless," she retorts. "I thought you'd less keyed up after this morning."

I kick her under the table. She doesn't even flinch. "Shut up. Talk to me about something else. Anything else."

"Okay," she says, thinking. "So how big is it?"

"How big is what?" I ask, stuffing the last of my bread into my mouth. I furrow my eyebrows at her.

"You know. Peeta's. . . well, you know."

"Johanna, I swear, if you don't shut up, I'm going to kill you right here and now," I say angrily. She just smirks at me. God, she's worse than Haymitch sometimes. Just to get rid of her stupid expression, I say, "Big enough. Are you done?" I ask, gesturing to her tray. Without waiting for her to respond, I swipe it off the table and put them in the pile of dirty dishes. I walk slower than I normally do, waiting for the flush to leave my cheeks.

When I get back to the table, the smirk has left Johanna's face. Her usual expression is back: bored and annoyed. Like she's ready for someone to cross her just so she has an excuse to rip their heads off.

"What time is it?" I ask her, tugging on a clump of her spiky hair.

"Close to ten," she says. "Maybe we should find out where they'll be coming in." So we do. It isn't until we're wandering around the gray halls of Thirteen that we realize we have no idea where Haymitch lives, we have no clue where Peeta is, and we don't know where we can find Beetee. So we walk to the elevator and go to Command.

When we get to the door of the room, we look at each other awkwardly. Do we knock? Do we just walk in? Knock, then walk in? It's Johanna who decides. She slides the door open, and we find that we've interrupted a meeting that looks important. Haymitch and Beetee are there, along with Coin and Plutarch. I turn red.

Johanna doesn't seem to care though. "Sorry," she says in a way that makes her sound like she's not sorry at all. "We were wondering where the refugees from District 12 will be arriving."

Coin, who we've interrupted mid-sentence, manages to force a polite smile. "Completely understandable," she says brusquely. "Hangar 2, I believe. Thirteenth level, follow the signs. They should be here shortly."

"Alright," I say quietly. I turn around and walk out as quickly as I can. Johanna's on my heels, smirking again. When she's by my side, I turn to look at her. She looks the same as always. Confident and unafraid of anything. It almost makes me feel better. She grips my hand in her own, and when she sees my nervousness, she squeezes it hard.

"You should be happy," she says, speeding up. I walk faster, too, because it helps settle the anxiety in my mind. "Your family is alive. Even your handsome cousin made it."

"He isn't really my cousin," I tell her. We're speed walking now. We get to the elevator and I jam my finger almost angrily into the button that reads '13.' "Someone at home made that up."

"Why?"

"Probably because he was too handsome and not very willing to play nice for the cameras, when they went to Twelve to interview him when I made the final eight. Didn't play well into the star-crossed lovers dynamic, or something. So some genius made him my cousin," I explain.

"Have you ever been more than cousins?" she asks, wiggling her eyebrows. I bark out a laugh, but it's a frustrated laugh.

"No," I tell her. "For him, it was . . . different. I know that now. I just never thought about him like that."

"Do you ever wish you would've?" she asks, using our linked hands to scratch her cheek. I scowl at her.

"It's funny, I was thinking about that this morning," I tell her dryly. "I told him once, a few months ago, that maybe we would've ended up together if it weren't for Peeta and the Games. It wasn't until today that I realized that I-I . . . would've found Peeta eventually." It makes me uncomfortable, talking about two of the people I love most. But it's Johanna, I remind myself. Johanna's on my list of people that I love now.

"Hmm," she replies noncommittally. "I guess that means he's fair game, then."

This time, my laugh is genuine. One of the nice things about Johanna is that she lets moments of particular emotional tension pass by and diffuses them with her crude sense of humor. It makes bearing all of this so much easier.

"I thought you and Haymitch were . . ." I trail off, looking at her out of the corner of my eye. The elevator finally stops at Level 13, and we look around for a few minutes, trying to find the signs that Coin told us about. We sit down to rest after a moment, though, because I'm still tired and the baby is kicking me a lot this morning.

"Haymitch is cool," she shrugs. "We're too alike for it to go anywhere, though."

"You and I are alike," I remind her.

"Yes, but I'm not trying to sleep with you," she rolls her eyes and laughs. My head jerks around when I hear Peeta calling my name.

"Where have you guys been?" he calls, slowing to a walk when he gets closer. I try to stand up on my own, but my back hurts and my stomach feels bigger than ever. So Peeta, when he gets here, puts his hands under my armpits and pulls me up.

"There aren't any signs," Johanna says, annoyed.

"If you two walked two hundred feet to your left, there would be," sighs Peeta. "Never mind. Let's just go. They should be coming in any minute."

"How many hovercraft did they send?" I ask, lacing my fingers through Peeta's.

"Twelve, I think," says Peeta. "There were only 970 survivors. They had to crowd the hovercrafts pretty tight."

"Oh," I say. Suddenly, I'm overwhelmed with rage and horror. 970. Out of eight thousand. Snow did this because of me, because _I _was the one who blew out the force field. And I'm so angry, so angry I could kill someone with my bare hands, but I'm also horrified and sickened with myself. My actions killed almost ninety percent of the people in my district. I did this.

That's what everyone that survived is going to be thinking. They're all going to look at me with blame and hatred and I can't do anything but accept it, because I hate myself more than they ever could. I hate myself.

My people. Greasy Sae, Ripper, Leevy, Thom, Madge, Mayor Undersee—the names keep running through my mind, wondering if they're alive—then the other names come, the ones who I know are alive, but will probably never be the same after seeing District Twelve go up in flames—Prim, my mother, Gale, Hazelle, Vick, Rory, Posy, Peeta's father, his brothers—the list goes on and on and I can't stop it—

It isn't until I feel Peeta's arms under my body and the vicelike grip of Johanna's fingers around my wrists that I realize I've collapsed. _You killed them,_ I tell myself. _You, you, you, and no one else._

"You didn't do this!" I hear Peeta say. He's wrong, though. If I hadn't fired my arrow at the force field—_electrified the nation, President Coin said, what a joke—_everyone in Twelve would be alive. Wouldn't it have been better for me and twenty-two other people to die so Peeta could've gone home and everyone else could've lived? Wouldn't it? "Katniss, there's only one person responsible for this, and it isn't you!"

_Katniss, remember who the enemy is._ Haymitch's voice echoes around my head for a while. I know who the enemy is. But that doesn't mean that I'm not the enemy, too. _I just wanted to hold them accountable for killing that little girl._

Yes, Snow is the enemy. Snow is the one who should be held accountable for the destruction of my district and my people. But that doesn't mean that I'm not to blame. Because I am.

"If you hadn't blown out the force field, none of us would be here," says Johanna, who is frustrated. "Don't be stupid."

I manage to open my eyes and see that we're outside of a large door that says Hangar 2. I look at Johanna. "Surprised you didn't call me brainless," I say.

"I didn't need to. You already know that."

"You know this isn't your fault," says Peeta gently. I'm somewhat embarrassed that I collapsed, so I wriggle out of his arms and stand up. "You don't punish one person by killing seven thousand people."

"I know," I sigh. "But they'll all hate me for it."

"No, they won't," snaps Johanna. "You were brave enough to give them an opportunity."

"An opportunity to do what?" I ask. Oddly enough, her voice reaches me more than Peeta's does in this moment.

"An opportunity to get out of the hell they were living in and make their lives mean something," she tells me. Her fingers are still around my wrists, and they squeeze tightly before releasing me. She looks through the window into the hangar. "It's time. Stop being stubborn and go see your family."

Peeta puts his arm around my shoulders, and leads me through the sliding door. The wind in the hangar is strong enough to blow me backwards, but Peeta's arms are there to catch me. A hovercraft is descending through the wide opening thirteen floors up. For a moment, I can see the sky.

We move closer to the hovercraft as it touches down. I have no idea if they'll even be on this one, but I can't resist. My heart is beating so fast, it feels like a continuous thrum in my chest. Prim. I'll get to see Prim.


	30. Chapter 30

Hers is the first face I see. When the door drops to the ground, she's there. Her thin body a blur, blond hair flying behind her, and she's in my arms. "Katniss, oh my God, I'm so glad you're okay," she sobs, holding on to me so tightly I can barely breathe, but I don't care. I hug her back just as tightly.

"I'm fine, Prim," I tell her, stroking her hair the way I used to when she was younger. "You're unhurt?"

"Yes, yes, I'm fine, so is Mom," says Prim, launching herself at Peeta next. "Mom's trying to help some of the wounded. She's in another hovercraft, she'll be here in a little bit." She pulls herself out of Peeta's arms and looks at Johanna.

"Oh," I say awkwardly, clearing my throat. "Prim, this is Johanna Mason."

"I know who she is," says Prim. She gives Johanna a smile and holds her hand out for Johanna to shake. Johanna looks at her in that hard way before smiling and shaking her hand.

"Hi," says Johanna.

"Hi yourself," says Prim. "You're a lot younger than you look on television."

"Thanks," says Johanna. "So where's Peeta's family?"

"In the back somewhere," says Prim, waving her hand at the hovercraft. She looks at Peeta. "I'm sorry your mother didn't make it."

"It's okay," says Peeta, looking at his shoes. "I never really thought she would." I pull him closer to me so I can lean up and kiss him on the jaw.

"Sorry, sweetheart," I murmur.

"It's fine," he whispers back. "My dad and brothers okay?"

"Yeah, your dad's fine. Your brothers have some second degree burns, though. They were trying to get more people out."

Behind us, people are pouring out of the hovercraft, and I hear Peeta's father call his name. Peeta turns around and runs—as fast as he can run, with his leg—towards his father and brothers. They embrace each other tightly, and I can see that Prim wasn't wrong. There are long burns on his brothers' forearms, and I think one of them—Farley, the eldest—has singed off some of his hair. The side of his other brother—Meetchum's—face looks like it, too, has been exposed to fire. But they're all alive, and I'm happy that they are. His dad's face is heavy with grief, but Farley and Meetch look like they aren't too bothered. When they catch my eye, I wave at them, but they stomp up to where we're standing and Farley lifts me off my feet in a bear hug.

"Glad to see you, too," I say, worming out of his grasp. "Meetch," I say, nodding at him. "Was it bad?"

They look at each other hesitantly before Farley says, "Yeah, Katniss, it was pretty bad. But we got out."

"Well, I'm glad you did." It's awkwardly silent for a moment before I realize that Meetchum is staring, openmouthed, at Johanna Mason.

"What?" she snaps. "Take a picture. It'll last longer." She stomps off to go meet Peeta's father, and I'm left alone with Prim and Peeta's brothers.

"Don't take it personally," I tell Meetch. "She's like that with everyone."

"I don't think he minds," Farley says.

"Listen, I'm going to go talk to your dad," I say distractedly. "Prim?" I say, holding out my hand. After the last week, there isn't a chance I'm letting her out of my sight.

"Was it really that bad?" I ask her.

"I don't know," she tells me honestly. "Mom and I did exactly what you said to do. As soon as you guys started making the electric trap, we grabbed all of the stuff we'd packed and got out. We stopped and got Madge, Gale's family, and Peeta's family. Gale and Peeta's brothers managed to get the fence down. Mostly, we waited in the woods. Gale and Peeta's brothers went to check up on the Games and tried to get people to leave. Some of them agreed immediately, because they were worried. Finnick had just knocked Peeta out and you and Johanna were fighting. Then Beetee tried to-to-well I wasn't sure what he tried to do, but it had to do with the force field, so some people decided it was better to be safe than sorry."

"Why didn't everyone else come?" I ask, my voice hushed.

"Well, after the screen went black, a lot more people _did_ come. Before that, Gale had only managed to get around 200 into the woods. So they went back and brought more people, but I think people were afraid of the woods. Once the Peacekeeper's trucks pulled out of Twelve, everyone knew what that meant. But they headed for the road, not the woods."

"And they died," I say in a quiet voice.

"Yeah," whispers Prim. I notice that she has a big bag slung over her shoulder.

"What's in there?" I ask.

"Food and supplies," she replies, turning bright red. I understand why when I hear a loud hiss from the bag.

"And Buttercup, I see," I chuckle. "I'll have to talk to someone about you keeping him."

We've just about reached Peeta's dad, and the hovercraft is pulling out of the hangar to let the next one in. I give Peeta's dad a perfunctory hug and my condolences about his wife, but my mind is elsewhere. People were more afraid of the woods than getting bombed by the Capitol? I thought more of the people of Twelve; I thought they knew exactly what the Capitol was capable of. I guess I'm just shocked that more people didn't run while they had the chance.

"I'm glad you two are all right," says Peeta's dad. Johanna is standing next to Peeta, eyes rolling around all of the refugees, taking their haggard appearances in. He puts an arm around both of us. "Which of the tributes got out of that arena?"

"Katniss, Johanna, Beetee—that's the man from District 3—and me. Capitol picked up Finnick and Haymitch's friend from Eleven," Peeta explains. My mouth turns down, because I've been trying not to think about Finnick.

"Shame," remarks Peeta's dad. "That Odair boy saved your life."

"Don't remind me," says Peeta, his voice quiet but desperate. I raise my eyebrows. It continually upsets me that Peeta is always more concerned for my welfare than he is for his own. He's constantly checking on me and comforting me, urging me to spill out what's bothering me. But he never tells me what's bothering him. I can tell, even now, that the fact that Finnick essentially sacrificed his life to get Peeta out is weighing on Peeta's conscience. No wonder he looked so tortured when Plutarch said we couldn't extract Finnick. Suddenly, I feel so guilty that Peeta's had to prioritize my mental health over his own.

So I pull him aside, wave the others on, and ask, "Why didn't you tell me about Finnick?"

"It doesn't matter," he answers, gripping my arms.

"It does," I retort. "What happened, exactly?"

"Fine," he says, annoyed. "Finnick attacked me so he could take my tracker out. I remember that very clearly. After Beetee knocked himself unconscious, Finnick took his tracker out, then hit me over the head with his trident. Not very hard. But he started digging my tracker out, and, I don't know, I think Brutus and Enobaria must've seen us, so he dug it out, smeared some blood on my face so it looked like I was as good as dead, and drew them away from me. He threw his trident at them and missed, but they went after Finnick and left me there."

"Finnick knew was he was doing," I tell Peeta, but my heart aches as I say the words. "Finnick has been involved with the rebellion for a long time, Peeta. He made a choice to sacrifice himself for you. He chose that, you didn't."

"While he was cutting my tracker out, he kept saying, 'Get him out for Katniss,' like he was talking to himself," Peeta tells me, his hands moving up my arms so they rest on my shoulders.

"So it's my fault," I deadpan.

"I didn't say that," says Peeta, but I'm backing away from him.

"It's okay," I say, nodding my head. "Enough blame has fallen on my shoulders for all of this, one more person shouldn't hurt."

"Katniss, that's not what I was sayi—"

"I know, but it's true anyway," I force a smile. "Listen, you should take your family to whoever is helping the refugees get settled in. I'll find you later."

I walk away and find Prim in the hallway outside, anxious expression on her face. "Hey, the second hovercraft is coming in now, little duck," I tell her, fake smile still on my face. "Do you want to go get settled in with the Mellarks or do you want to stay with me?" I don't really want her to go, but she's probably exhausted and wants to go find somewhere to lay down. More than three days in the woods have taken a toll on her.

"If it's okay, I thought I'd go with Johanna and Peeta. Get something to eat and take a nap," she says. There are dark circles under her eyes. I pull her in for another hug, probably strangling her with my embrace, but it doesn't matter. She's safe, for now.

"That's fine, little duck," I say, turning back to the hangar, where the second hovercraft is landing. Looking over my shoulder, I look at Peeta and Johanna. I don't meet Peeta's eyes. "Take care of her."

Johanna nods, and I'm sure Peeta is still trying to catch my eye. I know he wasn't trying to say, 'It was all your fault that Finnick was captured.' But it still stings, because if he hadn't trying so hard to get Peeta out for _my_ sake, he would've been okay. But would Peeta have been okay? I don't know. I shake my head and try to get rid of the thoughts.

I find Haymitch in the bunker. He looks a little better than he did yesterday, but he's still paler than normal. The doors to the second hovercraft open, and a sea of black-haired people spill out. I try to find Gale in the crowd, but I can't. So I sit down next to Haymitch on the raised platform by the door and look out at the crowd of burned, tired people from the Seam.

"How's Haymitch, Jr.?" asks Haymitch.

"Fine," I answer. "Asleep, I think. He was kicking at me all morning."

"Good," he sneers. I hit him halfheartedly with the back of my hand and we stare out at the people-our people—who are exhausted, but glad to be alive. A smile comes to my face despite my misery. "You know, it's thanks to us that these people got out at all."

"What are you talking about? It's thanks to me that District 12 got destroyed," I snap.

"Your insistence on wallowing in self-pity really wears on my nerves sometimes, sweetheart," says Haymitch in his nasty, sarcastic tone. It's the kind of sentence that should be accompanied by him gulping down mouthfuls of white liquor. I ignore him.

The second hovercrafts lifts off, devoid of people, and the third starts making its descent. I stare at it with a sour expression on my face. I've hated hovercrafts since one took me to my Games last years. I hate trains, too, but not as much. At least I made some decent memories on trains. The first time I told Peeta I loved him, the first time we slept together. There are no good memories on hovercrafts.

This hovercraft is full of black haired people, too, but I give up searching through faces looking for Gale's. Instead, I let my vision blur together until the black hair and olive skin of everyone on the hovercraft runs together into a nameless color. The third takes off when it's empty, and is replaced by the fourth. I don't even bother looking when the doors open.

"I killed those people," I say to Haymitch. "I got Finnick captured."

"Finnick got captured because of something I told him before the Games," replies Haymitch, his voice tired and angry at the same time.

"What's that?" I ask skeptically. _Get him out for Katniss._

"That you wouldn't cooperate with the rebellion unless they kept Peeta alive and got him out," says Haymitch flatly. "He was skeptical. He thought you weren't really in love with Peeta."

"Wonder what changed his mind," I muse, but I don't really care. I have too many other things to think about right now.

"Something did," says Haymitch. "Finnick thought you were really something, even from the beginning. After you volunteered for your sister, the first thing he said to me when he saw me was, 'Got yourself a victor, haven't you, Haymitch?'" I snort. Finnick. I miss him. "He was one of your biggest champions, you know."

"Which makes it worse that he's in the Capitol and not here," I whisper, finally letting emotion drip into my voice.

"Katniss, it was either him or Peeta," snarls Haymitch. His fingers twitch, and I know he wishes more than anything that he had a bottle in his hands. "He chose Peeta, because he believed in you and the change you could inspire. Stop feeling guilty about that."

"Do we know if he's dead?" I ask Haymitch, my eyes filling with tears.

"We don't know anything," replies Haymitch, his eyes moving to his lap. "But my guess is that Snow will use them. Finnick and Chaff."

"How?"

"Victors are powerful people, Katniss," explains Haymitch. "They have particular clout over the people in their districts. If Chaff tells the people of Eleven to stop fighting, they could very well listen to him."

"I'm sorry about Chaff," I tell Haymitch, hesitantly patting his arm. "I know he was your friend."

"He's been my best friend since the first year I mentored," says Haymitch, the ghost of a grin materializing on his face. "But both he and Finnick knew what they were doing, and they knew the risks. They chose you, Katniss."

"I wish it'd been me," I say flatly. "I don't want anyone sacrificing themselves for me."

"The boy would lose his mind if he knew you were talking like this," he observes.

"Better keep your mouth shut, then," I warn. I want to say something else, but someone calls my name.

"Gale?" I yell, jumping down from the platform. It hurts my ankles a little, but I don't care. "Gale!" I scream, throwing myself at him as soon as I see him.

"I'm so glad you're alright," he says into my hair. I pull back and look at him. He's burned, a little worse than Peeta's brothers. The side of his face looks pretty bad. So do his arms.

"Don't," I say. "I'm fine. Fit as a fiddle. You've looked better, though."

"I don't want to talk about it," he says to me, and I nod. I don't want to talk about it either. So I hug him again, feel his familiar warmth and the lean lines of his body.

"Johanna's been looking forward to meeting you," I say to him with a grin. I bestow hugs on all of his family. They all make their way out of the hangar, but he stays by my side.

Gale rolls his eyes at me. "Yeah, I heard what she said during the Games," he scoffs. "Not very subtle, that one."

"Nope," I say, popping my lips. "She's great, though. You'd like her."

"You sure?" he asks, and something in his eyes tells me that he's asking more than he really is. Wondering if anything's changed, if there's ever a chance he could have me again. His eyes sweep the hangar, probably looking for Peeta. "Where's your husband?"

I notice how the corners of his mouth turn down when he says 'husband,' and I grimace. I really don't like hurting Gale, I don't. And it hurts him that I am still Peeta's. But I tell him, "Watching Prim, I think. He and Johanna took her back to our place to sleep."

"I'm sure," he says sarcastically. I glare at him, because I know what he's implying. That there's something going on between Peeta and Johanna.

"Stop making assumptions," I snap. "You haven't even met her yet." I'm not stupid, I want to tell him. I wouldn't be friends with someone that would try to sleep with Peeta. I wouldn't be with Peeta if I thought he wanted to sleep with someone else. But I don't say any of that. I just meet his eyes steadily. We move to the platform where Haymitch still sits.

"Still loyal as ever, I see," says Gale. "Madge is on the next hovercraft, I think. So is your mom."

"Good," I note. "Her dad didn't make it out, did he?" Gale shakes his head.

We wait in silence. I hit my fist against my thigh repeatedly, until Haymitch grabs my wrist and glares at me. I wish Johanna were here so she could tell me why Haymitch is right about Finnick. Haymitch and Peeta, even if they've known me longer, are less able to reach me in the darker parts of my mind than she is. Maybe because her entire mind is like the dark part of my own. It's takes a dark, twisted person to understand another. Peeta is too good, too kind, too pure for that. He understands me, understands my scars, but the one thing he can't do is pull me out of the abyss of my own head, of my own twisted need to place the blame on my own shoulders when I'm not sure where else it should go. Haymitch gets it, kind of. But he's too callous to do what Johanna does. I'm half-tempted to go find her, when the fifth or sixth hovercraft lands and my mother tumbles out of it, looking exhausted and worn. It's easy to tell from the blood that stains the front of her dress that she's been trying to help the wounded. I wander over to her, and pull her into my arms.

"I'm glad you're okay," I whisper. She hugs me tightly and releases me, just to gently brush the back of her hand over my face.

"Me, too," she mumbles. I take her by the arm and lead her towards Haymitch and Gale. I'd almost forgotten about Madge when I hear her yell my name from somewhere behind me.

"Madge!" I half-whisper, half-yell. Reaching to snag her out of the crowd, I pull her towards me with such force that her body slams into my own. "I was so worried! No one told me you were alive! I only found out when Prim got here!"

Madge half-laughs, half-sobs into my shoulder. I embrace her more tightly. "You're not mad that I'm friends with Johanna, are you?" I ask, trying to make her feel a little better. She laughs, but tears are running down her face.

"No, silly," she says, patting my face clumsily. "You need a friend who understands what you've been through."

"I missed you," I tell her.

"Me, too, Katniss," she says. "Where's Gale?"

"Over by Haymitch, I think. Why?"

"Oh, I just—" she stutters, coloring. "Nothing."

"Alright," I shrug. When we get to Haymitch, Gale, and my mother, I ask Haymitch, "Where do they go to get living assignments?"

"There are a few stations set up by the hospital," grunts Haymitch. When we leave, I deposit everyone at my compartment while I make a visit to the President. She's in Command, but no one else is in there. My visit is quick, because I only stay long enough to ensure that Prim can keep her cat. She only has a few stipulations, which is a relief. She scrolls through a program on one of the screens that must—judging from the numbers, which have 'vacant' or 'occupied' next to them—list the compartments in Thirteen. She finds one that's empty that she tells me has a small window at ground level, and marks Prim and my mother's name down in the program. Buttercup, she says, must find his own food. He mustn't cause any problems, or he'll be shot on sight. She hands me a few pieces of stapled paper, which she tells me to give to my family. Relatively relieved, I nod at her and excuse myself.

Prim is relieved, to say the least. She's a horrible liar, and she isn't good at hiding anything, much less a cat. My compartment is full of people and life today, as Peeta's family, my family, Gale's family, Madge, Haymitch, Peeta and I are all squeezed in the tiny space. Prim took a short nap, Johanna tells me, but was too excited to stay asleep for long. No one has eaten, so at Johanna's suggestion, we migrate to the cafeteria, which is full of life. Some of the refugees from Twelve have gotten settled already, so they wear the gray uniform of Thirteen. Others, like my own party, are still in their soot-covered clothes from Twelve. It lends a certain color to the otherwise bland cafeteria. We all crowd into a table, but I avoid Peeta's eyes. Johanna is flirting with Gale, which doesn't surprise me. Meetchum is still staring at Johanna with wide eyes—I'm not sure if they hold admiration or desire or fear—while Gale's family mainly interacts with my own. Haymitch has managed to stay hospitable enough to talk to Peeta's dad and Farley, while Madge stares with narrowed eyes at Johanna and Gale. Her stuttering question about Gale earlier seems to make more sense now, and I nudge her with my elbow.

"Don't think I didn't notice," I say impassively, nodding my head towards Gale. He's laughing a little grudgingly at something Johanna said—like he's trying not to laugh, but it was too funny not to—and Madge's eyes go to her lap.

"I'm sorry," she says. I don't even bother trying to work out how I feel. Gale is not mine. I am not his. Even if I'd never been reaped—even if Gale and I had tried to be together—it wouldn't have worked. I still would've found Peeta. Whatever I feel isn't relevant.

"Don't be," I tell her. "I'm married."

"You know what I mean," she mumbles, flicking her eyes up at Peeta, who's sitting across the table, trying to get Meetchum to stop staring at Johanna.

"Madge," I sigh. "I'm tired of people thinking that Peeta and I aren't real. I married him. I wouldn't be pregnant right now if I didn't love him."

"That's actually true?" she asks. "We all thought Peeta was trying to keep you out of the arena."

"Yeah, it's true," I tell her, a little put out that she didn't believe any of it. But I have to remind myself that I haven't seen her much, because I've been so preoccupied with the Quell, and my wedding, and Peeta.

"I don't mean to doubt you," she says in that quiet, kind way of hers. "I'm sorry if I offended you."

"You didn't," I tell her honestly. "I don't care if you like Gale. Really, I don't. I love Peeta."

Yes, I love Peeta. But I still can't meet his eyes right now. I know he didn't mean to make me feel like Finnick was my fault, but I still feel that way. I wish he never would've said anything about Finnick needing to get Peeta out for me. I don't want to feel guilty anymore.

"Okay," she says. "I don't think it matters much. Johanna Mason already got to him."

"I wouldn't worry too much about that," I say, even though Johanna is elbowing Gale playfully. "She's like that with pretty much everyone." Just to make her feel better, I tell her about her undressing in front of Peeta. Like I expected, she's appalled.

"How are you friends with her?" she asks, mouth agape.

"She's a lot like me," I chuckle. "Plus, she was only trying to antagonize me."

"That doesn't make it sound much better," Madge protests.

Annoyed, I say, "Don't judge her until you get to know her. She's a good person." Madge, sensing my irritation, doesn't say anything else. Just spoons her lunch into her mouth quietly. Suddenly, I can't bear all of the happy conversation at the table. I just want to lie in bed and think. Or sleep. Anything. I just want to be alone.

Maybe this is callous of me, because my family just got here. But I'm tired of looking out for everyone else and sparing their feelings. So I drop a kiss on Prim's forehead, hug my mother, and tell them their compartment number. Without saying anything to anyone else, I stalk out of the cafeteria, and make my way home.

I leave the lights off when I go in. I just want to feel numb. I wonder that's all the morphlings from District 6 wanted, after they won their Games. To forget. To not feel anything at all. That would certainly be easier than dealing with the nightmares.

I want to get away from all of it. My dreams are still haunted by the Games, and I'm still haunted by the guilt I feel that I made it out instead of the others. Rue, Thresh, Mags, Wiress. Finnick. It isn't fair that I have to live and they had to die. I wonder if they'd feel the same way if they had survived and I didn't.

Haymitch would tell me that there's no point in thinking about it, that I survived and they didn't, and that's the end of it. Peeta would tell me that they would've wanted me to live, to go on and keep their memory alive. Johanna would say that Snow is responsible for all of this, and if I hate myself for surviving, I'm just playing into his hands. She'd tell me that if I'd have died in the first Games or the Quell, the nation wouldn't be rebelling, and where would that leave any of us?

I ball up my shirt, stuff it into my mouth, and scream. What would Finnick say if he were here? Finnick, who Haymitch said, had championed me since the very beginning. Who believed in me since the very beginning. I've known Finnick for such a small amount of time, but his absence feels like a noose around my neck.

The door of the compartment slams shut, and Johanna comes into my room. Turns on the light. Asks me what's the matter. I look at her blankly, because there's no point in not telling her.

"I feel like I'm responsible for all of this. I hate myself," I tell her. She rolls her eyes and plops down on the bed next to me, lies down so she's right next to me. She takes my hand.

"You can't hate yourself. You're the reason for all of this; the uprisings, the country launching into rebellion. You did all of that, without even knowing. I'll tell you why Snow blew up your district," she says fiercely. "He did it because he's afraid of you, Katniss. He's trying to scare you into submission. If you hate yourself and if you cower because you're afraid of more people dying, you're just doing what he wants. These people out there that are fighting, they made their choices. Just like all of us did. Finnick chose this, too. You've done so much more good than bad, for all of Panem, so stop moping. You're only giving him what he wants," she finishes.

I'm quiet for a while, but eventually I say, "How is it that two people as messed up as we are found each other?"

She laughs. "Snow forced us together. He made us and shaped us, and threw us in an arena together. What did he expect?"

I laugh, too, but then I tell her, "Peeta said that Finnick . . . sacrificed himself for me. Essentially. That he tried so hard to get Peeta out because he knew I wouldn't do it without him."

"So that's what started all of this moping," says Johanna.

"Partially," I retort. "The other part is knowing that almost everyone in my district is dead." After a few seconds of silence, I add, "Where's my family?"

"They went to their compartment to lie down. Peeta went to his family's compartment," she says. At the sound of her voice, the baby starts thrumming his heels against the walls of my womb. I groan.

"You made the baby kick," I tell her, annoyed. "He was sleeping."

"I'd like to be sleeping," mumbles Johanna.

"Me, too." So we lie together on the gray bedspread, holding hands, until Johanna dozes off and snaps back awake long enough to shut the lights off. We both slide under the cover, neither of us wanting to be alone anymore. My eyes start to drift shut, then, and I barely notice when Johanna throws her arm around me.

I don't dream. I'm not sure if it's because I've barely been asleep long enough to dream or if my brain just decided to take a break from torturing me. I don't really care. It's nice to drift along in a colored haze, not seeing the faces of people you killed, not seeing the faces of those who were stolen away from you. What wakes me up, eventually, is the cold bed next to me. When I realize Johanna isn't next to me anymore, my ears register hushed voices, like they did last night. I wonder how often Peeta and Johanna talk about me when I'm asleep, because it seems fairly regular now.

"Why the hell would you say that to her, Peeta?" she whisper-yells. I realize that they're standing right outside the closed door. I close my eyes so that if one of them comes in, I can pretend to be asleep. "You're such a dumb ass, I swear I want to rip your throat out."

"I was just telling her what happened! She asked," Peeta whisper-yells back. "Jesus, you ride me so hard about her, are you sure you're not married to her?" She rides Peeta about me? Apart from their conversation about me last night, this is the first I'm hearing of it. Peeta mocks Johanna's voice, "'Stop expecting so much from her, Peeta, she's trying.' 'Peeta, let her be, she doesn't need to be crowded.' It's like you're the authority on all things Katniss now!" I'd never really heard Peeta be rude to anyone before, so it's odd to hear him speak like this. "I just want to help her, Johanna, don't you understand that?"

"So do I! But if your version of 'helping her,'" sneers Johanna quietly, "is basically telling her that Finnick let himself get captured for her, then I don't think you should be helping her, fuckwad."

"She isn't weak, Johanna," says Peeta. He's right, I'm not weak. But Johanna wasn't exactly suggesting that I was.

"Don't you think I know that? I never said she was weak. I'm saying that she already feels responsible for the deaths of nearly everyone in 12. She doesn't need any more guilt," snaps Johanna.

"I wasn't _trying _to make her feel guilty," Peeta says, his voice less sharp now.

"I know that. She knows that. But you know how she is. Every time something goes wrong, she doesn't know who she's supposed to blame, so she piles it all on her own shoulders," explains Johanna, her voice every bit as insistent and sharp as it was before.

"How do you know that? How do you know any of this about her?" asks Peeta. I can almost see him dropping his head into his hands as he says this.

"I just do. It's easier for me to see it because I'm the same way, but anyone paying attention can see it. You're so used to her being the strong one, that you don't stop and consider that she can't shoulder every burden on her own," Johanna explains. Her voice is gentle now.

"She isn't on her own," snaps Peeta, in that odd whisper-yell of his. "She has me. And you, I suppose."

"That isn't what I meant, and you know it."

"I depend on her too much," he says. "I depend on her strength so much that I don't believe she can be weak. That's what you meant."

"Yes," breathes Johanna. "It isn't bad to believe in her strength, Peeta. But you have to realize that even Katniss has weaknesses, and a big one is her tendency to blame nobody but herself."

"What am I supposed to do?" he asks.

"Nothing, for now. I talked her down."

"You know what kills me about this?" says Peeta. They move further away from the door, but I can still hear them. They aren't as quiet to whisper now. "She was trying to make me feel better about Finnick. I try to keep things to myself because I don't want to bother her, but she always pulls them out. She must have thought that I was keeping my feelings to myself so I could take better care of her."

"Weren't you?" asks Johanna.

"I mean, yes. But not exactly. I mostly didn't bring up Finnick because I didn't want to upset her, or you. The guilt I can live with, Johanna. I know what we're doing here is important," he says.

"It is," agrees Johanna. "We just can't let Snow turn her into a weapon against herself."

"I should wake her up," says Peeta. "How long has she been asleep?"

"Couple of hours," replies Johanna. "Kid was kicking her to death, but she was out. You woke me up when you came in."

"Sorry," chuckles Peeta dryly. I sit up, not wanting to pretend that I didn't hear all of their conversation anymore. Peeta believes in my strength so much he didn't imagine how badly this was weighing me down. Odd, considering I collapsed in the hallway today. Johanna was loyal enough to threaten to rip Peeta's throat out. Two people who, despite everything I've done, still believe the best of me.

"Hi," I say, as soon as he walks in. He flips the light switch on. Johanna trails behind him a little bit, face not showing one bit of surprise at my consciousness.

"Hi," says Peeta. He sits on the edge of the bed, like he thinks coming too close will upset me. "I guess you heard all of that."

"I heard enough," I reply. "Johanna's right."

"Are you mad at me?" asks Peeta, reaching for my hand. I let him take it.

"No," I say. "I just . . . feel responsible for all of this. Or felt. I don't know. I just didn't need another reminder of how badly everyone wanted to save me. It only made me feel worse."

"I'm sorry," murmurs Peeta.

"You don't need to be. You didn't mean anything by it," I say. "I'm sorry I'm so difficult to deal with."

"You aren't hard to deal with," says Peeta. I look at him doubtfully. "I mean, yeah, you do things I don't really understand a lot. Shutting yourself in bedrooms and screaming at me for leaving, things like that. But I understand why you do that now, and I don't care as long as it means that you'll stay with me."

"I wish you'd stop worrying about that so much," I sigh. "Leaving isn't really an option for me anymore."

"Why not?" he asks. His hand has wandered to my belly. He taps his fingers against my skin, like he's trying to wake up the baby.

"I think I told you enough this morning," I say. "Listen, Johanna's right about everything. Just—just—I don't know, when I start being crazy and try to blame myself for the world's problems, just be there. You don't need to say anything, just be there. Let Johanna deal with the crazy. I'll deal with hers, too. That way you have the easiest job out of all of us."

He laughs a little bit and says, "Johanna said he was kicking a lot."

"Yeah, Haymitch didn't want to sleep," I tell him. I tap my fingers against my belly. "Seems to be alright now. Sorry for shutting you out today."

"It's fine," he reassures. "I just didn't know what to say to make it better."

"You know what I asked Johanna earlier?" Peeta makes a noise in his throat, letting me know he's listening, and keeps tapping his fingers against my navel. "How two people like us—messed up, you know—found each other."

"I don't know," Peeta laughs. "Lucky you did, though."

"I think maybe it's the same for you and me. We're both so scarred, I doubt anyone else would take us," I say. "Lucky we fell in love."

"It was a real piece of luck, my name being drawn at the Reaping," he grins. That's what he said during the Games, when I was trying to convince myself that what I felt for him wasn't real. I smile back.

"We would've found each other without the Games, you know," I say.

"If you say so," he murmurs, finally leaning down to kiss me. I feel that thing in my chest again—something I feel so often it's hardly noteworthy anymore—and I can't ignore it. So, without a word, I pull Peeta's shirt over his head and let his skin fall against my own; two pieces of a scarred, damaged whole finally coming home again.


	31. Chapter 31

**The Hunger Games and its characters belongs to Suzanne Collins.**

"We're just going to do a Q &amp; A, alright, Katniss?"

Cressida isn't what I expected her to be. Apart from the tattooed vines that extend from the half of her head that's shaved all the way down her arm, she could pass as someone from the districts. No silly accent, dyed skin or hair, no surgical enhancement. Somehow, she manages to be firm, competent and kind all at the same time.

She still can't calm the nerves that roil in my stomach, though. We're sitting in a hovercraft that's descending on District Twelve, and even though Peeta grips my hand tightly, even though Johanna is glaring at me with a sense of purpose, even though Gale is sitting across from me looking at his shoes, it's hard to fight the nausea that threatens to choke me.

"Alright," I get out. "Where are we landing?"

"By the old Justice Building," she answers. Cressida, Messalla, her assistant, and her two cameramen—whose camera shells make them look like insects—fled the Capitol all on their own. They weren't rescued. They joined Plutarch's underground, led by their own consciences, and ran away. For me. "We're mainly going to be filming you and Peeta today, but by all means, Johanna, if you have anything you want to add, go ahead."

All three of us nod, but Peeta's face looks a little gray. He's sweating. It's been three weeks since the refugees from Twelve arrived, and I was supposed to have filmed a propo—probably should have filmed twelve by now, according to Coin—already. An argument broke out in Command when she confronted me, because I have continually insisted that I see Twelve first, while Coin wanted me to start filming something in Thirteen as soon as possible. Plutarch eventually suggested the happy compromise that I see Twelve and film a propo at the same time. I grimace. I don't want everyone seeing my grief, my destroyed district, and the shadows of my old life. But that's the price you pay during a revolution, I suppose.

The hovercraft shakes as it moves closer to the ground, and I feel like I'm going to vomit. I take deep, shuddering breaths, and Johanna reminds me, "Don't give him what he wants. It wasn't your fault." I look up at her, the fierceness in her brown eyes grounding me a little. She nods at me. I feel like all of the blood has drained from my face, but I nod back at her.

The door opens, and I grip Peeta's hand tightly as we stand up and walk into the ruins of our district.

What I see is nearly impossible to describe. The square, once almost joyful with a holiday feel, has been reduced to sticky gray ash. The Justice Building is a pile of stone ruins, an umbrella of stone and concrete and granite sprayed all over the square. The flimsier brick and wood structures around the square are gone. Completely. There are bricks scattered all around the square, some cleaved in half, some shattered into hundreds of pieces. I lean down to pick up the one whole, unbroken brick that lies in a pile of debris, and uncover a human skull.

"Aaah!" I scream, flinging the brick away like it's a red hot ember. I skitter back and hit something firm and soft at the same time. In my panic, I don't care who it is. I let whoever was standing behind me wrap their arms around me from behind and try not to choke on the strangled sobs and screams that come out of my mouth. When I over my shoulder, I see hard brown eyes and sag in relief. Her arms are wiry but strong, and she holds me up, even though my body is being pulled towards the ground.

"Wh-what-I-why did he do this?" I almost scream. I don't care that the insects are recording me. I don't care about anything at all, really, just the gray ruins and the bodies that are littered around me, barely even bodies at all. A sob tears through my throat and it's all I can do to stay in the cage of Johanna's arms and not run away.

"Katniss," hisses Johanna in my ear. "The only way we can fight back at him is with this propo. Stand up. You can do this."

She holds me for a little while longer, but releases me when the shaking of my body has died down. Peeta's immediately there to replace her, but I don't let him hold me. I just look at him, hoping that it's enough to help me cling onto my sanity. Even though this is just as hard for him as it is for me—after all, just yards from here is where his family's bakery stood, just yards from here is where his mother's ashes surely lie—he meets my eyes with a surprising steadiness. It reminds me of our time in the Capitol before the Quell when I realized that, of the two of us, he was the true rebel. He had been all along.

He motions for Cressida to follow him, and he tows me towards the spot where his family's bakery stood. The only thing that remains is a somewhat melted lump of metal, which must be the oven.

"Can you tell me where we are, Peeta?" asks Cressida, motioning with one of her hands towards an insect. He moves closer to Peeta.

"This was my family's bakery. This is where Snow decided that the lives of my family—the lives of everyone in District 12—were so worthless, so unequal to his own, that he razed my district and my people to the ground." Peeta looks directly into the camera, blue eyes on fire. "Nine hundred and seventy people. That's all that's left out of eight thousand. If any of you in the districts think for one second that Snow holds your lives equal to his own, you are lying to yourself." He pauses for a moment, and I think tears have welled up in his eyes. "Katniss and I were lucky. Her family survived. My father and brothers made it out in time, but this," he motions towards the debris and melted oven, "this is where my mother was burned alive. This is where she took her last breaths, believing that Snow needed District 12 too much to incinerate it. My mother died because she believed we matter to Snow. Don't make the same mistake," he finishes. He does not glance further into the ruins, and I know why. Even if his mother was cruel to him his entire life and her death hasn't affected him significantly, he does not want to look inside and see the charred remains of her skeleton.

"Why? Why did he do this?" asks Cressida.

"Because that's just what Snow does," snaps Johanna from the other side of Peeta. "He takes and takes and takes, because everything in this country, even the lives of the people in the districts, belongs to him. We're all slaves, stuck under his thumb, free to be manipulated and controlled and forced to kill each other in the arena. Free to be murdered with the touch of a button, like the people of Twelve."

I don't even know why Coin needs me as the Mockingjay. Peeta and Johanna don't need to be told what to say, they've had a lifetime to form the right words. Not me. I hate them, I hate Snow, just as much as everything else. But my anger doesn't come out well in words. It displays itself in the rash, defiant actions I've taken. Pulling out those berries. Burying Rue in flowers. Singing until she died. Shooting an arrow into a force field. With words, I am hopeless.

"Is that why you blew out the force field, Katniss? To free yourself and the people you love?"

Nervousness roils in my stomach, so I do what I've done in every interview I've ever had. I look into the blinking red light and pretend I'm talking to Cinna. "I shot an arrow into the force field for thousands of different reasons," I tell Cressida, uncomfortable with the cameras that follow my every movement. "I did it for Gale, my cousin," I reach my hand out to him and pull him closer to me, "who worked twelve hours a day, six days a week in the mines of District 12 just to make barely enough money to feed himself. Much less his entire family. I did it for my sister, Prim, so she'd never again have to hear her name called at a Reaping." I think of the sadness that would be in Cinna's eyes. He, like the rest of the country, adores my little sister. "And for Johanna, whose entire family, every single person she loved, was murdered by President Snow just because she refused to be used and manipulated by him. For Haymitch, who spent the twenty-three years watching children he mentored be murdered in the arena until Peeta and I came along. For Finnick Odair," my face twists when I force his name out of my mouth. "My friend, Finnick, who has suffered—more than most of us—for the last ten years just so he could protect the people he loved."

Peeta is watching me very carefully out of the corner of his eye, but I can see that he's smiling. He takes my hand and pulls me closer to him. I look at him before I say, "I did it for Peeta, who has saved me in every way that a person can be saved. For our child, so that he won't ever see the inside of an arena. I did it for Rue, who was too young and too gentle to die, who I couldn't save. I did it for everyone in Panem, because for seventy-five years we've been forced to work and starve and send our children to die. Peeta told me once, the night before the 74th Games, that he wanted to die as himself. That he wished there was a way he could show them he was more than a piece in their Games. I didn't understand what he meant at the time, because I was just thinking about surviving and getting home to Prim. But Peeta, he's always understood where we stand in the eyes of Snow and the Capitol. And now, I do, too. He burned my district to the ground, just to punish me and scare me. So I guess I mostly shot my arrow into the force field because I was tired of being a piece in his Games."

"Katniss gave us an opportunity," says Gale quietly, after a moment of silence has passed. He is even more uncomfortable with the cameras than I am, because the only time he has ever been on camera was for my final eight interviews. But he must know how important his words are, because he soldiers on. "She gave us an opportunity to fight back and get rid of the system that's always kept us down. We just have to be brave enough to take it."

Cressida holds her free hand up, and says, "Cut." The blinking red light of the cameras stop, and I release a breath I hadn't realized I was holding in. "That was great, you four. Now, we need some footage of the district, and you walking through it." She adds, after a few moments of silence when we're all drinking water, "Come to think of it, it would be very moving to get separate footage of the people you talked about, Katniss. We'll have to do additional filming in Thirteen to get shots of Prim and Haymitch, but we can pull footage from your first Games to get footage of Rue."

"What about Finnick?" I ask, feeling sick at the turn the conversation has taken.

"We'll use something from the Quell," says Cressida brusquely. When we start walking, she adds, "What do you think about using footage from when the jabberjays—"

"Do whatever you think is right," snaps Johanna rudely. "I don't want to talk about Finnick."

"Right," replies Cressida. "Cameras on."

So we walk through the district, which is little more than charred piles of debris and cinder. The further we move from the Square, the more burned skeletons I see. At one point, I stop and vomit. Johanna's face stays hard and closed-off the entire time, and I wonder whether she's thinking about her own dead family or whether her mind has wandered to Finnick. Peeta eventually puts his arm around me and plants a kiss on my forehead. Gale doesn't look at any of us. He just looks at the bodies and the ashes and the charred remains of buildings and homes. When we get to the Seam, it's been flattened. Like it never even existed. Horrified, I think about all of the coal dust that was embedded in these homes, how they must have exploded with the smallest flame reached them, how these people—my people, the people I grew up with, the people to whom I belonged—screamed as their bodies were lit on fire.

I walk over to Gale and put my hand on his shoulder. "Hey," I say quietly, ignoring the way Peeta's eyes tighten when he sees this small instance of contact between Gale and me. "You did the best you could, Gale. You saved so many."

"I could've carried more kids, I could've—"

"Shut up," growls Johanna. "You did more than most people would've done. When you blame yourself, you're allowing yourself to forget who the real enemy is. Stop feeling sorry for yourself."

"Johanna is right, Gale," says Cressida. "If you hadn't done what you did, there would be no District Twelve, not even a memory of it."

I take my hand off of Gale's shoulder and tell Cressida, "Gale lived here. I used to, as well, before I won the Games."

"Let's move on," says Cressida quickly.

The rest of the walk doesn't take long, but the horror and carnage and ugliness of it all makes time feel like it's dripping by, so slowly each step we take feels like we've barely moved an inch.

Finally, we reach the Victor's Village, which hasn't been touched by bombs or flames. Everything is perfectly intact. Probably for Capitol officials who might have to visit Twelve some day and need somewhere decent to stay. Gale throws himself on the green grass that stretches between the houses, and hurriedly strikes up a conversation with one of the insects. I can tell that he doesn't want to think about Twelve any more than he has to.

"Want to see our house?" I ask Johanna halfheartedly. Peeta already went inside, probably to grab some of our things to take back to Thirteen.

"Sure," she agrees. "Your houses look different from ours. Ours are like log mansions."

"That sounds nice," I say, pushing open the front door. I show her around. Everything is exactly the same as it was the morning we left for the Quell, but something feels eerie. I can't put my finger on what it is, so I try to ignore it as I show her the living room and kitchen, each of the four guest bedrooms, and finally, Peeta's studio. Peeta is in here, tossing some of his art supplies into a giant bag that's half-full of other things.

"Wow," says Johanna. "These are even better in person." Johanna skims her fingers over the paintings, a few of which Peeta is stuffing into the bag.

"I thought we could put a few of them up in our compartment in Thirteen," he explains when he sees my confused look. "Give the place some color."

"Oh," I nod. I look at the painting that Johanna is studying closely. My stomach turns over when I see it, because it's a painting of Glimmer, her body bloated and distorted from the tracker jackers. I fight the urge to vomit.

"You're talented," says Johanna, her voice unbelieving, like she finds it difficult to comprehend that Peeta is able to do anything besides love me.

"Thank you," Peeta smiles up at her. "Nothing like Katniss, though. You should see the clothes she designed," Peeta mocks, smirking up at me. I lob a blank canvas at his face, which he deflects easily.

I pull Johanna out of the studio just so I can show her Peeta and I's room. The bed is made neatly—I don't remember doing that the morning of the Reaping, I guess Peeta must've—but a few things are missing. My favorite blanket, a couple of pillows, the trinkets from our bedside tables. A few items of clothing. But that isn't what makes me uneasy. I wander the room until I find the source of it: a single white rose, perfectly preserved, in the vase on the dresser.

"Ungh," a strangled noise comes out of my throat as I throw it across the room and skitter back into the wall.

"Katniss? What's the matter?" asks Johanna, sounding bored. I don't say anything. I just look at her with wide, terrified eyes and point to the white rose that is now resting on the floor besides the bed.

When her eyes fall on it, she understands immediately. She understands what the President is trying to tell me. _You can never escape me. I was always watching. I'm still watching you, right now._ Johanna snaps into action, pulling me by the hand so hard that I'm sure she's ripped by arm out of its socket. She stops and yells at Peeta to get out of the house, and she drags me, running, outside.

"Snow left Katniss a rose," says Johanna breathlessly to the crew outside. I know that Haymitch and Plutarch will hear everything from above, because we're all wearing earpieces that connect to them. "He's watching us."

"What does that mean?" Peeta asks, finally out of the house, two full bags slung over his shoulder.

"I don't _know,"_ snaps Johanna, looking at everyone impatiently. "I just know that it means he's watching us and probably knows we're here. I don't know if he's going to do anything at all, but we need to get out just in case he does."

Finally a voice in my ear finally speaks up. "Johanna's right," says Plutarch calmly. "The hovercraft is uncloaking and descending now." The hovercraft's invisibility mechanism disabled, I can see it growing closer and closer to the lawn in the Victor's Village. I am still too rattled to speak.

"Hey, it's alright," says Peeta, who's rubbing my shoulder. "We're safe, we're okay."

"We're never going to get away from him," I manage to say, my voice sounding like a stranger's. Peeta doesn't disagree with me, because he knows I'm right. No matter how far underground in Thirteen we go, he will still be there. He will still be killing the people in the districts, and today was his way of letting me know. I wonder when the rose was put there. Yesterday? This morning? While we were filming the propo in front of the Justice Building? Nothing good is safe while he's alive. Nothing at all is safe if he's alive.

As the hovercraft rises into the air, and we head back towards Thirteen's underground bunker, my breathing gradually slows down and my heart stops slamming into my chest. I register the faint kicks of the baby under my ribs, and Peeta's rough hand in my own.

"Sorry," I breathe. "I didn't mean to scare you. I just had a panic attack."

"It's alright," he tells me, kissing each one of my fingers.

"God, I wish I could see the look on his face when your face is on every screen in Panem tonight," laughs Johanna. When the words leave her mouth, something occurs to me. _He's afraid of you, Katniss,_ Johanna had told me three weeks ago. He's afraid of me and the damage I can do in the districts, he's afraid of the power I have to move the rebels to action. He's afraid that my voice—and Peeta's, and Johanna's, and even Gale's—will loosen his stranglehold on the districts.

He should be.

A couple of hours later, the hovercrafts descends into Hangar 4, and I'm almost relieved to be back in this underground dungeon. I release my vice grip on Peeta's hand, and as soon as we get off of the hovercraft, Cressida and her team race away to edit the footage into a propo.

"Haymitch is kicking my ribs to death," I complain. I am now twenty-two weeks pregnant, and my stomach is jutting out more than ever, and is distinctly round. His kicks don't feel like bubbles anymore, which is uncomfortable for me; Johanna and Peeta like to sit around and feel his little feet slam against the wall of my womb.

As I knew he would, his hand flies to my stomach. "He is," grins Peeta. "He's a warrior, like you."

"Mmm," I say noncommittally. There's nothing I'd like to do more than take a nap, but I promised Cinna that I would stop in and see him. "I'm going to see Cinna. Are you coming?" I ask Peeta and Johanna.

"I can't," Peeta says. "I have to go to training."

"Why are you even bothering with training?" I ask. "You're one of the symbols of the rebellion."

"I bother with training because I'd really like to be there when we invade the Capitol," retorts Peeta. "I don't know why you don't join me, Johanna."

"I'll join you when Katniss does," she snaps. "Besides, we won't get the Capitol until January at least. Baby's due in November. We'll have time to train."

"You know," I interject. "I could always ask Coin if I could go aboveground to hunt. I could bring you, or Gale."

"Bring Johanna," says Peeta sharply. I glare at him.

"You're really brainless," snaps Johanna as I say, "Shut up Peeta, you know how I feel about him." We look at each other and laugh.

"I'm going to see Cinna," I tell Peeta, pulling him close to me for a hug. "You know I only love you." I kiss him softly on the mouth. "Will you ask Coin about hunting for me? It would help us get more fit for the Capitol."

"Sure," he sighs, rolling his eyes. "You could always ask her yourself."

"She likes you better," I tell him. "Everyone likes you better."

"Except Johanna," he points out. She smirks at him.

"You're not wrong," she says sharply. "We'll be in the hospital if you need us." He nods at us and walks away. I watch the too-bright light of Thirteen reflect off his blond hair until he turns the corner. Johanna pulls me into an elevator and we ride in silence to the hospital floor.

Thirteen has been good for my mother and Prim. They are both working in the hospital, although the medical staff here sees my mother more as a nurse than a doctor, despite her lifetime of experience in healing. Prim is a medical assistant, but it more knowledgeable than half of the nursing staff. My mother, too, knows more about medicine and healing than half of the doctors. But neither of them complain, because they have opportunities here in Thirteen they would never have had in Twelve. My mother gets to practice actual medicine on people that aren't too far gone to save. Prim could train to be a doctor, which she never would have been able to do in Twelve. So, despite the destruction of our district, I'm glad that they're here.

I stop off at the nurse's station to say hello to my mother and Prim, who are both doing their rounds. Mom shows Johanna and me to Cinna's room, and updates us on him as we walk. "He's much better, really, Katniss. His short-term memory retention is improving massively, and we've even starting cutting down the amount of morphling he receives."

"Are you sure that's a good idea?" I ask her. "He's still in a lot of pain."

"That's the only choice we have, Katniss," she explains. "Morphling is extremely addictive. It's either cut down his supply or risk turning him into an addict."

"I guess you're right," I sigh. She slides back the door of Cinna's room to let us in first, and she follows us in to take his vitals.

He does look better. The bruises have all but gone away, and the swelling around his cuts has gone down so much he almost looks like his normal self. The only thing that's different is the slightly dazed look in his eye. I hug him tightly, and Johanna waves at him.

"How are you?" I ask, plopping down in a chair.

"Doing better, they tell me," he replies with a small smile. "Portia tells me that you filmed a propo today."

"We did," says Johanna. "Went to Twelve and everything. Katniss was great."

"Was she really?" he asks, looking at me with laughter in his eyes.

"What's so funny?" asks Johanna impatiently.

"Nothing," I snap, swatting at Cinna's arm. "Haymitch told me before my interview with Caesar during the 74th Games that I had the charm of a dead slug."

"That's overselling it," replies Johanna, but Cinna frowns at her.

"I always knew she had it in her," he claims. I want to roll my eyes, but Cinna was the one who helped me through the mess of the 74th Games. He gave me the help I needed before the interview and was my only real friend during that terrifying week leading up to the arena.

"I just looked at the camera and pretended I was talking to you," I tell him honestly. "You've been my friend since the very beginning."

Cinna takes my hand and squeezes it. He doesn't say anything else about the propo, he just says, "So, tell me what you two have been doing since the last time I saw you."

Johanna fills Cinna in on the rebellion, which is in about the same place as it was three weeks ago, when we first got here. Ten of the twelve districts are rebelling, but Eleven has almost driven out the Peacekeepers entirely. Eight has taken heavy losses, but they're nearly as close to taking their district as Eleven. The rest of the districts are fighting on, and Thirteen drops in supplies, medics, and reinforcements when they can. Mostly between bombings.

I tell Cinna, when Johanna is done, "Haymitch Junior weighs about a pound now. His kicks are getting stronger. He's been kicking a lot today, so I bet if you put your hand on my stomach, you could feel him." I move so I'm sitting on the edge of Cinna's bed, and he gently rest his hand on my bulging stomach. Junior's heels are rapping against my womb insistently, and after a moment, Cinna grins.

"He's strong," comments Cinna. He nods at Johanna and I's black outfits. "The outfit Portia made you looks good," he says to Johanna. My Mockingjay costume was already made before the Quell, so all Portia had to do for it was make alterations in the midsection to accommodate my growing stomach. She had Beetee add some more bulletproof armor, too. Portia made Johanna and Peeta's outfits not long after she arrived. Theirs are plainer than mine—they don't need all of the silly Mockingjay paraphernalia—but it doesn't detract from the costumes. Johanna's is black and tight and makes her look like a warrior. Peeta's is more in keeping with a military uniform, only the color of coal. They both have the same bulletproof meshing that my costume does.

"Thanks," she quips. "Peeta wanted us to tell you hello. He's training."

"Why aren't you?" asks Cinna.

"Didn't really want to leave Katniss on her own. Both Peeta and Gale are training, Haymitch and Beetee are always busy in Command, and her mom and sister are working in the hospital," she explains. "We'll both have time after the baby is born to train for the Capitol."

One of the things I'm most grateful for is the amount of support Peeta and I will have after Haymitch Junior is born. Not only will Johanna be living with us, but Prim, my mother, Haymitch, Hazelle, Peeta's family, Madge, and even Effie have offered to help whenever we need it. We have a village here to help raise our child. I wonder if Gale will even want to see Haymitch Junior. Maybe he'll be too much of a reminder of what could've been between Gale and me. I try not to think about it.

Johanna and I spend a few hours in there with Cinna, sometimes talking, sometimes not. I think Cinna is just glad for the company. It's nice being able to talk with him like we did before the rebellion.

"Have you thought of middle names?" asks Cinna, after I've been quiet for a while. I want to roll my eyes so badly, because middle names are frilly and useless. My own middle name, Sage, has almost never been used. But Peeta wants to use Haymitch Junior's middle name as another way to pay tribute to the people in our lives. So I agreed.

"A couple," I shrug. "I liked using 'Finnick' as his middle name, but Peeta thought it didn't sound right. I suggested using Johanna's last name. Haymitch Mason Everdeen-Mellark. Peeta likes that one."

"Why are you naming your kid after people?" asks Johanna scathingly, like I didn't just tell her that we were partially naming our child after her.

"We both wanted to memorialize the people who have kept us alive in one way or another," I tell her, glaring at her. "That's why we wanted to name the baby Rue if it was a girl. We thought about naming him Thresh, but that didn't sound right. So that basically left Haymitch, Finnick, and you. Peeta didn't want us, or our child, to forget the people who've helped us and saved us. I thought it was a good idea."

"I guess," she says, looking at her shoes. "Haymitch Mason Everdeen-Mellark. Sounds good enough. It's a mouthful, though."

Cinna laughs, and I smile grudgingly. I turn my attention back to Cinna, who asks, "So when exactly is Haymitch Junior coming?"

"Dr. Borley thinks middle of November," I tell him. I shrug like it doesn't matter, but secretly, I'm still terrified. I'm happy about the baby now, but I don't have any idea how to be a mother. Johanna told Peeta once that I'm not kind or warm, but don't you have to be those things when you have children? I'm scared witless that I'll somehow mess up, and that doesn't' help, because I'm still scared that the child will be snatched away from me some day.

"You'll do well," says Cinna. He looks at me evenly, like he's been reading my every thought. I shrug again. His hand is still on my belly, but Haymitch has stopped kicking. "Listen, girls, as much as I love having you in here, I'm getting tired." He glances at the clock on the wall. "And it's nearly dinnertime."

"Alright," I say, standing up. I lean down to hug Cinna, and Johanna touches his hand gently. "I'll come see you again soon."

"Bye," says Johanna. We walk out, and join my mom and Prim, who are leaving for dinner.

"Should I come over tonight?" I ask Prim, ruffling her hair. She bats my hand away.

"It's okay," says Prim. Her face turns red. "I'm going over to the Hawthorne's after dinner. Plus, you've come over every single night for the last three weeks."

"Oh," I say, trying to ignore her blush. "What about you, Mom?"

"I'll stop by your compartment on my way to see Haymitch," she says distractedly.

"Why are you going to see Haymitch?" I ask sharply. God, I hope that my mother and Haymitch aren't seeing each other. That would be a disaster.

"I'm giving some herbs," she tells me. "He still isn't feeling very well. He's sober for the first time in about twenty-four years. His withdrawals are bad."

"Thank God that's all it is," I say in relief. "I thought you were dating him or something.'

PB

Turns out, I don't see my mother after dinner, after all. Peeta, Johanna, Gale, and I are yanked from our table by Haymitch while we're finishing dinner. The more pregnant I become, the more food they give me. Which means I can dole little bits of it out to Peeta and Johanna at the table, even though it's technically illegal. Gale won't take any from me. In fact, he barely even looks at me.

Even though our relationship finally thawed a little before the Quell, it seems like Gale's put his walls up again. I think maybe it's because I'm so close with Johanna now that he feels replaced, or maybe he's still put out that I chose Peeta instead of him. I don't know why, and it's frustrating. Sooner or later, I will have to confront him about it. Until then, I'll have to deal with the cold shoulder.

Madge is still pining after him; I find that it isn't at all surprising because she told me, not long after she got here, that she—worried about me and unable to claim as much of my time as she used to—went to talk to Gale about it sometime after the Tour. He was snappy and rude to her, but they eventually starting seeing each other—not romantically, but as friends since neither of them really had other friends—a couple of times a week. Gale even took her out into the woods one Sunday. I don't think it bothers me much. But Madge, too, is training to become a solider—as are most of the teenagers from Twelve—and doesn't see much of him. When she does see him, he's almost always talking to Johanna.

Which leads me to the conclusion that there's . . . something between Johanna and Gale. I'm positive they haven't slept together, because Johanna would have told me. But I'm worried that Gale will start to develop actual feelings for her, and she won't for him. She's too closed off for that, I think. And Gale and she are too similar, anyway. The same reason she couldn't feel anything romantic for Haymitch.

Haymitch barks something at me and I realize I've been walking really slowly. I do an odd little jog to catch up to the rest of them, and Peeta twines his arm around my shoulders.

"Sorry," I whisper to him. "I was thinking."

"About what?" he asks, little smile on his face.

I make a face before telling him, "Johanna. . . and Gale."

He winces, but tries to cover it up with a mocking smile. "I can see why that'd bother you. You _are_ pretty territorial about Johanna." I know that he's actually thinking that I'm jealous, because there might be something between her and Gale. But I don't think it bothers me, honestly. I would've never had a real future with Gale, Games or no Games.

So I say, "You know I don't like sharing her." I add pointedly, "Or you."

This smooths out the lines on his forehead, and he kisses me on the cheek. "It doesn't bother me," I murmur to him. "You know I don't feel that way about Gale."

"I know," sighs Peeta.

We finally arrive at Command, and find that it's crowded with people. There aren't even any chairs left for us to sit in, so we stand awkwardly by the door.

"Hello," greets President Coin. She smiles her odd, half-warm, half-detached smile at us, and settles further into her chair. She holds her hands up to quiet the room. "I've called you all here because Beetee is about to launch an Airtime Assault."

"What?" I blurt out stupidly.

"We're showing your propo to Panem tonight," she smiles at me, a little impatiently. "Every district will see it." I nod at her and look at my fingers, entwined with Peeta's. I should learn to stop talking in this room.

One of the screens on the far side of the room is tuned into a Capitol program, where a pink-skinned young woman is telling the audience of the expected shortages for the week. The screen glitches as she opens her mouth, and suddenly, a shaking image of the ruins of Twelve is on the screen, panning from left to right. "Nine hundred and seventy people," Peeta's voice says as the camera sweeps over the wreckage. "That's all that's left out of eight thousand." The words, combined with the eerie background, raise goosebumps on my arms.

The image on the screen morphs, and it's Peeta's face that I'm looking at now. He looks so young and strong in his black outfit. "This is where my mother was burned alive," he gestures at the lump of metal that was the bakery. And the scene changes to another view of Twelve, this time, an image that slowly zooms in on a burned, charred skeleton. "This is where Snow decided that the lives of everyone in District 12 were so unequal to his own that he razed my district and my people to the ground." Those weren't his exact words, so they must've edited some of it out. "My mother died because she believed we matter to Snow. Don't make the same mistake."

The scene changes. Johanna and I, walking hand in hand, down the ruined streets of Twelve. Her voice narrates the scene, saying, "That's just what Snow does. He takes and takes and takes, because everything in this country belongs to him. We're all slaves, free to be manipulated and forced to kill each other in the arena." The scene is suddenly a rapid montage of Johanna in her Games—shaking and crying, running from something, murdering someone—and she intones, "We're free to be murdered with the touch of a button, like the people of Twelve."

Then the screen is on me, and I look pale and pregnant and sick. There are tears in my eyes when I say, "I shot an arrow into the force field for thousands of different reasons. For Gale," the scene changes to Gale crouched in the ruins of the Seam, Gale, staring off into the distance on the lawn of Victor's Village, "my cousin, who worked twelve hours a day, six days a week in the mines just to make barely enough money to feed himself. I did it for my sister, Prim," and the screen changes to footage of the Reaping when her name was called, and I am shoving her behind me. You can hear, more quietly in the background, me screaming 'I volunteer!' "So she'd never again hear her name called at a Reaping." The scene changes to her laughing, carefree, in District Thirteen. "For Johanna," and the scene changes, and this time, there's audio—quieter than my voice, but still subtly and beautifully audible—from the Quell. _I'm not like the rest of you,_ she says. _There's no one left that I love._ "Whose entire family was murdered by President Snow, just because she refused to be used by him. For Haymitch," my voice says, and there's a shot of him looking pensive and angry in Thirteen, morphing into a shot of him from years ago, drunkenly laughing with Chaff on television, "who spent twenty-three years watching children he mentored be murdered. For Finnick Odair," and as soon as the scene changes to him screaming during the jabberjay attack, I have to look away, "My friend, Finnick, who has suffered for the last ten years so he could protect the people he loved." The scene changes to me and Peeta standing side by side in the wreckage, his arm around me, me staring up into his eyes as I say, "I did it for Peeta, who has saved me in every way that a person can be saved." A fast montage follows my words, images and clips of us kissing and fighting monkeys and running from fog and then there he is, dead while Finnick resuscitates him and I'm screaming and crying next to him. The montage continues as I say, "For our child, so that he won't ever see the inside of the arena." The scene changes to Rue covered in flowers, me singing to her as she died, me crying over her body, and the voice over says, "I did it for Rue, who was too young and too gentle." The scree glitches again, because someone is trying to block our signal, but Beetee has too much control for that to happen. Then it's Gale, just Gale, his handsome, tired face saying, "Katniss gave us an opportunity to fight back and get rid of the system that's always kept us down."

Then it's all four of us walking down the ruined streets of Twelve, and onscreen, Peeta has pulled me into an embrace, one of those absentminded kisses that we share quite often, and my voice says, "Peeta told me once that he wished there was a way he could show them that he was more than a piece in their Games." Footage of us sitting on the beach during the Quell, looking at each other like we're the only two people alive in the world, fading into an image of me screaming during the jabberjay attack, him leaning his face against the invisible barrier like he's trying desperately to reach me. "I didn't understand what he meant at the time, but Peeta, he's always understood where we stand in the eyes of Snow and the Capitol."

Footage changes to Peeta in front of the Justice Building, his blue eyes on fire, saying, "If any of you in the districts think for one second that Snow holds your lives equal to his own, you are lying to yourselves."

More footage of Twelve, me putting my hand on Gale's shoulder, us four standing side by side in front of the Justice Building, looking beautiful, furious, young, the very picture of what rebels should be, as I say, no longer a voice over, "So I guess I mostly shot my arrow into the force field because I was _tired _of being a piece in his Games." The image of Twelve fades out and an image of me from the Quell, looking bloody and bruised, aiming my arrow at the force field comes into view.

Just as I release my arrow, Gale's voice says, "Katniss gave us an opportunity." My arrow hits the force field, and instead of going black, the screen bursts into flames, and Gale finishes, "We just have to be brave enough to take it."

The room is dead silent as my mockingjay comes on the screen, wreathed by fire. You could hear a pin drop. Peeta's hand has tightened around my shoulder, and I am oddly moved by the propo. Cressida's team has edited the footage so beautifully—my speech paired with footages of each of the people who have inspired me, barely showing my face once, the haunting images of Twelve as our voices speak in the background, and the dramatic ending—that I am almost moved to tears. The propo is not an angry call to arms, but something much better. It's emotional and moving, reminding the people in the district what inspired them to fight in the first place, reminding them who the enemy is. The ending is the best part, though. It is Gale, no one famous, just an ordinary person from 12, who calls on the people to be brave.

Plutarch says, "Wow," and the room breaks into applause. I smile at Cressida, tears in my eyes, because I have never seen anything like it. She nods at me, a broad grin on her face. I imagine seeing the propo from the districts, like I am tired and worn down from fighting back against the Capitol. Nothing like it has ever played on the screens of Panem before. I am moved, so moved, that Cressida ended the clip with Gale, and I am sure I'm not imagining the effect it is having on the people of Panem. I'm sure she did it on purpose: ending the propo not with a famous face that has been paraded around by the Capitol, but with someone who belongs to them. One of their own. I look over at Gale and he is looking at me. Suddenly, I walk over to him and pull him into my arms. "I'm proud of you," I whisper into his ear before I let him go. "That was one hell of a way to end a propo."

He grins at me and I walk back to Peeta, who takes my hand. Johanna sees this and takes my right hand in her left. She takes Gale's left hand with her right, and we are one unbroken chain of people who have given everything up to the Capitol, had our childhoods and our lives stolen away from us by President Snow.

The broadcast finally glitches back into view, and the woman who was speaking before looks startled. "Wait, I thought they didn't see this in the Capitol?" I ask.

"No, the citizens didn't," answers Coin. "But anyone who is in charge of Capitol broadcasts did, like Snow and those in his office who control the media."

"Oh," I say lamely. The woman continues to read off of her list of shortages, like she was never interrupted. Coin switches off the broadcast, and turns to address the room.

"I would like to congratulate you on a job well done," she nods at me before turning to the others: Peeta, Gale, Johanna, and Cressida's team. "It seems the hopes we placed in our victors were not misguided. Beetee will be playing the propo repeatedly until we have another one to broadcast." She shuffles some papers and looks up at the room, "There is, however, more to discuss, so if you are not involved in the propo-making process, please make your way out of the room." Most of the people sitting in the chairs around the table get up and move towards the door. I'm glad for this, because my feet are starting to hurt and all I want to do is lie down. Sitting down will have to work, though.

As soon as the room is empty and we're settled in our chairs, Coin addresses us again, "Plutarch has an idea he would like to run by you all."

"Yes," Plutarch clears his throat and studies a sheet of paper in front of him. "Now, I've had the idea of making a series of propos called _We Remember._ Essentially, each individual propo will be focused on dead tributes from past Games. The aim of this is to target each individual district and make it personal for them. Make them remember why they started fighting. I was thinking that Haymitch, you could narrate most of them," says Plutarch.

"Why me?" asks Haymitch stubbornly.

"Because you knew everyone in the Quell personally, and you've been mentoring in the Games the longest. You're a recognizable face to everyone in the country. I think they'll respond well to you," explains Plutarch. Haymitch scowls. "Now, Johanna, I would like for you to narrate a few of them. Blight's, for instance. Also, if we made a propo about the kids from Seven that died in Katniss's Games, you would have to narrate that one. Katniss, you're going to narrate Rue and Thresh's _We Remember_ propo."

"What about me?" asks Peeta.

"You won't be doing any _We Remember_ propos, because you are going to be, in the next few months, tackling the most difficult challenge in terms of propos."

"And what's that?" he asks.

"You are going to make propos specifically targeted at Districts One and Two," explains Plutarch. Peeta's face immediately sours. "Don't look like that, Peeta, it makes sense. First of all, you are the only victor in this room that was ever allies with someone from One or Two. Secondly, you are the most persuasive voice in the room. You are the voice of reason. You have a very unique, specific talent with words, and we need you to use that talent to break down support for the Capitol in Districts One and Two."

"How?" Peeta almost snaps. "These people love the Games. They can't be persuaded."

"We'll go over strategies another time," says Coin, looking completely unfazed by Peeta's rudeness. "For now, we just wanted to fill you in on the media situation. You've all had a long day. Go get some rest."

Understanding that we've been dismissed, I nod at her and push myself up from the table. The set of Peeta's jaw is angry, so I pull him by the hand out of the room so he doesn't start an argument with Plutarch.

"I'm gonna go hang out with Gale," Johanna says when we get out of the room. I raise my eyebrows at her. "Okay, maybe I'm going to see if he wants to have sex. Maybe. He looked good in the propo."

"Thanks for telling me," I say. I smack her in the arm and she prances after him, nudging him with her hip. I turn to Peeta. "Whatever you're frustrated about, you can tell me all about it when we get home, okay?"


	32. Chapter 32

**The Hunger Games and its characters belongs to Suzanne Collins.**

I haven't been back to our compartment all day, and I'm looking forward to taking a long, hot shower and collapsing into bed. When we get home, though, my jaw drops. It looks like a completely different place. Above the couch, there's a painting of Peeta and I on our wedding day, exquisitely rich in detail. On the couch, there are several colorful pillows that I recognize from our house in the Victor's Village, and there's an orange blanket draped over the back. There's a colorful vase on the low table in front of the sofa, with fake orange flowers in it. That must be from one of the spare bedrooms. There are unlit candles interspersed throughout the room, and a large rug from Peeta's studio decorates the bland gray carpet. There are other paintings on the walls, too. There's one of me, perched on a tree during our first Games. There's one of Prim and my mother, too, laughing and smiling at the dinner table of my old house in the Victor's Village. One of Peeta's brothers. When I walk into the bedroom, Peeta's painting equipment is set up in one corner. My favorite thick green blanket from our bedroom at home lies over the gray comforter, and some of our pillows are there, too. My favorite painting of Peeta's—the one of me emerging from the gray mist—is displayed proudly on the wall. There are other trinkets from our home in Twelve in the room, too. I turn to Peeta and grin at him, somewhat touched that he would go this far to make our small compartment in Twelve feel like a home.

"Thank you," I tell him. "You did a beautiful job."

"Go look in Johanna's room," he tells me. I push open the door, feeling creepy for invading her privacy, but am surprised when I see that some of things from the biggest spare bedroom at home are in her room. There's a blue comforter on her bed, on top of the gray one, and sky blue pillows decorate the head of it. There's a painting of Haymitch above her bed—that must be Peeta's idea of a joke—and he's decorated her room with vases and candle and a beautiful iron-wrought clock that he took from our kitchen at home.

"That was so nice of you," I tell him.

"No," he disagrees. "I just wanted to make it a home for her, too."

"You're something else," I say in amazement.

"How long do you think Johanna will be gone?" he asks, and with a flash of heat, I recognize the look in his eyes. I take him by the arm and pull him into our room, where he backs me up against the wall. We stare at each other for a moment, letting the tension build until he can't take it anymore, and he crushes his lips to mine. We are not gentle, and we are not tender; not this time. He pulls me out of my Mockingjay suit—I'm embarrassed I didn't take it off earlier—so quickly I hardly even realize he's undressing me. He backs up for a moment, just to look at me. His eyes travel up and down my body, so much love in them that it's nearly unbearable. My stomach and breasts are bigger than they ever have been, and I would be embarrassed were it not for the look in his eyes. Like he's never seen anything more beautiful, more desirable than I am now. So I study him just as intently as he pulls his shirt over his head, slowly unbuckle his pants, and lets them fall to the floor. We look each other in the eye, just for a moment, and before I know it, his lips are back on mine. We are not gentle. We are not tender. Not this time. Not when our need and love is so acute it stabs us like needles in our skin. When he tangles his hand into my hair and kisses me so hard his teeth snag my lips, when I can feel him hard against my leg, when lifts me up against the wall and we fall together, when he moans my name over and over again, we are not careful. We are not gentle or tender. Not when we need each other like our bodies need air to survive. Not when we are as perfectly matched as the waves and the shore, always crashing into each other and colliding. Not when we love each other the way that we do—desperately, like we could be taken away from each other tomorrow, or the next day, or the next day. No, we are not gentle. Two people such as we, tested in fire and starvation and murder, cannot be gentle.

PB

After, we've showered off the sweat of our lovemaking and the ashes of the people of District Twelve, I lay, curled up in bed while Peeta paints and rants to me about Plutarch.

"It's like he thinks I'm similar to those people," he says angrily, dipping his brush in skin-colored paint.

"It's ridiculous," I agree.

"Yeah, I knew them during the first Games. But I didn't ally with them because I wanted to save myself, I did it for you. It doesn't mean that I understand them or have some connection with them," he picks up another brush and swirls it in paint. "You don't agree with him, do you?"

"Not necessarily," I say, sifting through the old baby clothes that my mother remembered to pack before fleeing District Twelve. "I only agree with him on one thing; I think he's right that you're the most persuasive person out of all of us. You can use your words as a weapon, Peeta. You proved that when we were in Twelve today."

"I know," he sighs, annoyed. "But I don't want anyone to think that I'm like the people from One and Two, because I'm not."

"I don't think anyone would think that," I tell him. "Everyone knows how kind you are. I don't think anyone with a brain would ever think you're like them. You're too good, Peeta. Better than the rest of us." What I mean by 'us' is the victors. Every one of us, except for Peeta, were and are cold-blooded murderers. You can't win the Game without being that way. Peeta is an exception; even though he did kill people, it was different than the rest of us. The first girl he killed, he did it out of pity because Cato had already mauled her. The second girl, Foxface, he killed by accident. He's just better than the rest of us. He throws a smile my way.

"Thank you, sweetheart," he says in a softer tone. "I just don't know what I could possible say to convince these people that they should fight the Capitol."

"I know," I sigh. I throw a pink onesie in a pile to my left. "Plutarch and Coin will help. You won't be on your own. I can be with you while you film, if you want."

"That would make me feel better," he agrees. He paints in silence for a long time, and it gets so late that I'm dozing off in bed when Peeta says my name gently and I start awake. "Sorry, sweetheart. I'm done with my painting. I just wanted to show you." I rub my eyes with my fists and try to sit upright in bed. Peeta takes it carefully off of the easel and sits in front of me, painting cradled in his arms.

Johanna, in the painting, has a dark, ugly bruise on her forehead and a bloody bandage on her arm. Her eyes stare into the distance, like she's seeing something that haunts her. But she isn't alone. She leans on a black haired girl with an identical bruise on her forehead, and blood drips down her forearm. Me. Our shoulders leans against each other, and our hands grasp each other tightly. Johanna's hand rests against my stomach, graceful and still, and my head droops against her shoulder. Both of us look exhausted and beaten, but unmistakably beautiful though we are covered in blood and bruises and dirt. Peeta has captured the essence of our friendship in his painting; strong enough to go it on our own, but leaning on each other because it's nice to finally have someone that understands the strengths and weaknesses and the darkness inside of each other.

"Was this on the hovercraft?" I ask him, impatiently swiping away the tear that fell on my face.

"Yeah," he says. "You were asleep, and Johanna was so deep in thought she didn't notice that I came out to check on you."

"I'm not asleep in the painting," I notice.

"No," he says. "Your eyes are too beautiful for me to paint them closed."

"It's beautiful," I tell him. He smiles at me. "Where will you put it?"

"I'm going to hang it in Johanna's room," he suggests. "You know what made me happiest when I saw you two like that?"

"What?" I ask.

"You and Johanna aren't trusting people, not at all. But a rare kind of friendship grew between you two, and it grew quickly. When I saw you guys like that on the hovercraft, it made me happy that you finally found another person you could trust. And it made me happy that she found you."

"I trust you," I remind him.

"You know what I mean," he says. "Johanna really does ride me about you all the time." I laugh, the sentimentality of the moment gone. "She's really loyal to you. And you to her. You two are good for each other."

"Yeah," I agree, still chuckling. "I don't think Madge likes her."

This time, Peeta laughs. "Of course Madge doesn't like her. Madge has liked Gale for a really long time, Katniss. Longer than she's willing to admit to you."

"How do you know?" I demand.

"I notice things," says Peeta simply. "Speaking of Gale and Johanna, do you want to go find her?"

"I suppose," I groan, dragging myself out of bed.

"Or I could do it," he offers, putting his hand on my stomach protectively.

"No, it's alright. I think Gale still hates you," I tell him, pulling on a pair of sweatpants Peeta took from our house in Twelve.

"Why?"

"Because I love you and I don't love him. Don't be stupid," I chide. Peeta kisses me quickly and I wave him off, because Gale's isn't that far away and he won't have to miss me for very long.

When I slide the door open, the corridor is cold. I glance back at the clock in the compartment. It's past ten. The corridors are mostly empty, so I make my way silently to Gale's compartment, which is only a ten minute walk from my own. When I get there, I'm about to raise my fist to knock on the door when I hear—yet again—angry voices from inside. I've eavesdropped so much since I got to Thirteen that I might as well not stop now. I move my ear closer to the door.

"Gale, I'm a fucked up person," says Johanna in her waspish, annoyed tone. "That's just what I am. Deal with it."

"You're not fucked up, you're just convincing yourself that you are so you don't have to trust anyone," argues Gale.

"Shut up," shouts Johanna. "You don't know anything about my life. You don't understand what the Games do to you. No one will ever understand except for those of us who survive them." Johanna pauses for a moment before adding venomously, "Besides, you aren't doing this because you care about me."

"I do—"

"Gale, I don't want you to care about me. I don't want you to fall in love with me. I don't care. I just want you to stop trying to convince me and yourself that you don't love Katniss."

"Katniss doesn't want me," says Gale in a low, mean tone of voice. "She's too busy with her 'husband,'" he sneers.

"Don't talk about Katniss like that," snaps Johanna. "Or Peeta. They love each other, and you need to get the hell over it." I hear Gale's loud sigh, and I know that this hurt him. Johanna must, too, because she says in a softer tone, "Look, Gale, you're a cool guy. You're a good lay. And I'm totally down with just fucking each other. I need a break from Haymitch anyway."

Gale laughs reluctantly, because Johanna really is too funny to not laugh at. But then he adds, "I just want to get over her. I'm tired of loving her. It's too hard."

"She's an easy person to love," corrects Johanna. "That's what's hard about it. Look, I'm all good with fucking each other. But if you need someone to love you, try that ditzy looking blond from your district. Try to find someone that will love you the way you need. It isn't me, and it isn't Katniss. It might be that girl. I don't know. Just try."

"Madge?" asks Gale. "Don't be stupid, we're just friends."

"That idiotic girl is rude to me every time she sees me, and if you're in the room, she doesn't look anywhere else," says Johanna in a 'you're the stupidest person in the world' voice. "Just do me a favor, okay? Stop badmouthing Katniss to me. I'm not going to agree with you, and it pisses me off. Peeta, too, for that matter."

"What, he's got his claws in you, too?" asks Gale, the venom gone from his voice.

"No, Katniss is my best friend here," she snaps back at him. "But Peeta is my friend, too. And he's a really good guy, Gale, he makes Katniss happy. If you stopped hating him so much, you might actually like him."

"You and Katniss are both way too loyal," Gale observes. "When I got off the hovercraft, she bit my head off because I implied that you were trying to sleep with Peeta."

"Too much loyalty isn't a thing," replies Johanna. I decide that this is an appropriate time to intervene, so I back up down the hallway, and walk forward again, making sure my steps are loud and distinct.

I pound on his compartment door, and yell, "Johanna! Put your clothes on! Peeta has something for you." A woman walking past me in the hallway glares at me and I give her my dirtiest look in response. She turns around immediately, probably because she knows I've killed people and she thinks I'll kill her. I almost laugh.

The door slides open, and Johanna's sitting on a table in Gale's compartment, looking totally at ease. Gale looks at me with a smug expression, like he thinks I'll be upset that him and Johanna slept together. Instead, I walk in and flick her on the cheek. "Didn't you hear me? Come on, Peeta has something to give you."

"Alright," she says, hopping off the table. I look at Gale indifferently.

"You can come, too, if you'd like," I invite.

"I guess," he shrugs. "I can't stay long, though. I have training in the morning."

"That's fine," I say carefully. Johanna grabs onto me as we walk into the hallway, her fingers digging into my hand.

"Stop eavesdropping," she whispers in my ear.

"Sorry," I breathe back. "But you were right about Madge."

"I know," she says smugly, her voice loud enough to carry.

In less than ten minutes, I'm telling Johanna to close her eyes. She complies, and I slide the door of the compartment open. I lead her into the compartment and tell her to open them. Peeta's relaxing on the couch, looking at me suspiciously—probably because I was gone longer than I should've been—but manages to smile at Johanna when she opens her eyes.

Johanna surveys the living space, wide eyes quickly taking in the compartment that now, feels like an actual home. She grins at him and says, "Nice job."

"You haven't seen the best part yet," he smiles. He slides her bedroom door open and lets her walk in first, letting me and Gale follow her before he comes in. I can feel Gale's eyes burning into the back of my head. Peeta has replaced the portrait of Haymitch above her bed with the painting of us. It's larger than the picture of Haymitch, and more beautiful, because there's emotion and friendship and trust in the picture, instead of the scorn and suffering that decorates Haymitch's portrait.

Johanna runs her fingers over the blue duvet, smells each candle he put on her dresser, brushes a bit of dust off the face of the clock. She finally, after examining each decoration, sees the painting above her bed. She studies it for a long time, her eyes moving from her painted face to my own, before she turns to Peeta and says, "You did this all for me?"

"Yeah," he shrugs, like it isn't a big deal. "I thought you'd like it to feel like a home." He pauses for a moment, his eyes raking over my own face, like he's dying of thirst and I am the cool drink of water that will keep him alive. "You and Katniss are better off when you're together. Thought you'd like a tribute to that."

Johanna doesn't say anything, just pulls the two of us into a lung-crushing hug. She holds us there for a long time, maybe because she doesn't want us to see the emotions that have crept into her face. But I don't mind. Gale's look of annoyance and superiority has dropped off of his face a little, like he knows that Johanna is right about Peeta, but he isn't fully willing to admit it yet. I grin to myself, and Johanna finally releases us.

"Thanks, brainless," she says, finally composed enough to speak. "You got one thing wrong in your painting, though."

"What's that?" he asks.

"We're a lot uglier in real life," she says, and I burst out laughing. Johanna cracks up, too, falling against me while I lean my head against her shoulder and snort with laughter. Peeta chuckles a little bit, and eventually, after Gale is done looking at us like we're insane, cracks a reluctant smile.

"I was wrong," Gale says suddenly. His voice isn't frosty and cold like I expected it to be. "You _are_ fucked up. I guess Katniss is, too, though. So it's good you two found each other."

The muscles in Peeta's jaw start jumping, but all he says is, "Everyone who's survived the Games is fucked up, Gale."

"Lucky you all found each other, then," Gale says indifferently.

"Let's stop before this turns into a pissing contest," snaps Johanna angrily, her laughter finally subsiding. "You two," she gestures between Gale and Peeta, "need to talk your differences out. Go outside."

Both of them huff and roll their eyes, but Johanna practically shoves them out the door. They don't say anything, but I hear Peeta settle into the sofa. I won't lie; I'm nervous that Gale will hit Peeta or something. But Johanna's right; it can't always be this tense between Gale and Peeta. I want Gale to accept that we'll never be together so I can have my friend back.

Johanna and I settle into her small bed and she pulls the painting off the wall.

"Careful," I hiss. "It's still wet." She rolls her eyes at me and looks down at the painting. The detail that Peeta captured is truly striking; the purple and blue of our bruises and the dark red blood dripping from our wounds is so realistic it looks like a photograph. But Johanna was right that he painted us so that we look more beautiful than we really are. The lines of our faces are painted lovingly, and it's the only part of the painting that doesn't look as realistic as an actual picture. The hardness and pain and exhaustion in our eyes is unmistakable; we look, somehow, tough enough to survive an earthquake and broken enough to die at the same time. I wonder if that's how our eyes really look. Our hands grip each other desperately, like we are clinging to each other because the only real thing in the world is one another. I do remember holding her hand like that, because she was strong and she steadied me.

All I say is, "It's a good likeness."

Johanna snorts, "I love you, Katniss. Thanks for being my friend."

"Did you just tell me you love me?" I ask incredulously. She rams her shoulder against mine and I laugh, even though it hurt a little. "Can I ask you something?"

"You just did," she says, and it seems like an old joke that's been passed between us for years. "Yeah, go ahead."

"The paperwork Dr. Borley gave me before she released us was for Haymitch Junior's legal guardians in the event that Peeta and I die," I say. She looks at me with her eyebrows furrowed. She's confused. "I'm putting you down as one of his guardians. His godmother. Is that okay with you?"

She looks at me for a while, like she's trying to figure out if I'm serious. Then she pulls me into a tight, vicelike hug, and doesn't let go for a long time. "Yes, of course," she says after a few minutes, and her voice sounds watery, like she's about to cry.

"Good," I say, as she releases me. "Johanna, you're my best friend."

"I know," she tells me. She knocks her knee against mine.

"Love you, too," I say casually. She smiles at me, and we fall into a comfortable silence, leaning against each other much like we do in the portrait in front of us. "They're never going to say anything, are they?" I finally say.

"They will," whispers Johanna. "Just give them a minute."

Johanna is right. After ten more minutes of silence so tense I can feel it from here, Gale says, "You look smug."

"Get used to it," snaps Peeta.

"Why should I?" sneers Gale. "Katniss could always change her mind."

"If you think that, you're an idiot," says Peeta, anger creeping into his voice. "You know how I said that we're all fucked up, every one of us who's won the Games?" Silence. I assume Gale nods. "If you've noticed, Katniss and Johanna are inseparable, even though they've only known each other for a little more than a month. If you tried to take Johanna away from her, Katniss would probably attack you. Do you ever wonder why that is?"

"I guess," says Gale sullenly.

"Because they understand each other's scars. They've both survived the Games—"

"Won," interrupts Gale. "They both _won_ the Games."

"No one ever wins the Games," snaps Peeta. "Anyway, since they've both lived through the Games, they have a very specific set of scars that only another victor would recognize and understand. They're already so much alike that it only brings them closer. But then they were in the Games together. Nothing—_nothing—_binds you to another person the way the Games do, Gale. Three days together in an arena is like three years together outside of it. That's why Katniss and Johanna are the way that they are." Johanna grins down at me. I elbow her. I hear a metallic sort of clink, and I realize Peeta's taken off his leg.

"Sorry," mumbles Peeta. "Gets uncomfortable. I hope you don't mind."

"It's fine," says Gale. He adds, after a moment—maybe he's inspecting Peeta's stump—"I get the whole Katniss/Johanna thing, but what does that have to do with Katniss changing her mind?" asks Gale, frustrated.

"Because Katniss and I survived the first arena together. Then we had the same set of scars, and we learned to deal with them together. Even if you've known Katniss longer than I have, you'll never understand her the way I do now. Katniss and I have been in two arenas together, and are stalked by the same fears and same nightmares as each other. In the first arena, she tied herself to me forever, even if we both didn't understand that then."

"I love her, too," Gale protests.

"I know you do. I don't hold that against you, because she's an easy person to love. She has no idea the effect she can have. But you know she doesn't love you, Gale. She told you herself," says Peeta, his voice losing its hard edge. "You know as well as I do that if she said those words to you, she isn't changing her mind. She's too stubborn."

At this, Gale chuckles, even if it is mirthless and a little hard. "Yeah, she is."

"I really don't have an issue with you, except Katniss is losing you as a friend because you won't give up," says Peeta, his voice a little lighter now. "I don't want her to lose you."

"I don't know how to move on," admits Gale.

"Try Madge," laughs Peeta. Gale sighs sharply. He's annoyed.

"Does everyone know about Madge except for me?" he snaps.

"Yes," answers Peeta.

"Does Katniss?"

"Yes."

"What does she think?" asks Gale.

"She thinks Madge would be better for you than Johanna, because Johanna can't fall in love with someone like you," says Peeta.

"Someone like me?" asks Gale, sounding offended.

"You're too much like her. Too much like Katniss. It works for them, because they're dark and twisted and weird," Peeta explains. Gale laughs. "Johanna needs balance in the person she falls in love with. She can't be with someone just like her. She'd be miserable."

"I wonder how those two get through a day without ripping each other's throats out," muses Gale.

"They don't," answers Peeta, smile in his voice. Johanna starts laughing. It's true, though. Johanna and I fight a lot; we yell at each other and say nasty things and take swings at each other, but five minutes later, we're laughing again. "Almost every day I come back here and they're snapping at each other. Or trying to hit each other. You remember when they were fighting in the Games? The little ruse they put on so they could dig out each other's trackers?"

"Yeah," answers Gale.

"They hit each other so hard they were hospitalized for three days afterwards," says Peeta baldly. Gale laughs this time, a real, loud laugh. "Finnick, in comparison, didn't even touch me. The hospital here released me five minutes after I got here."

Gale's laughter ebbs away until silence falls over them again, but it doesn't feel as tense as it was before. "What you did for Johanna . . . that was nice."

"I guess," Peeta says. I can almost see the shrug of his shoulders from here. It makes me smile. "I don't know what to tell you about getting over Katniss. I never could. Just . . . I don't know, maybe feel things out with Madge?"

"Yeah," coalesces Gale. "You aren't too bad, really."

"Thanks," laughs Peeta. "I'll take it. So, I asked Katniss about this earlier, but honestly, what do _you_ think about Plutarch wanting me to appeal to 1 and 2 . . . " I tune out the rest of their words. I turn to Johanna and she looks at me. We both burst out laughing.

"Dark and twisted and weird," Johanna says between her peals of laughter.

"So twisted we got each other hospitalized for three days," I laugh, clutching my sides.

We laugh and laugh and laugh, and it's that delicious kind of laughter that begins to die out, then picks up again for no reason other than you're just _happy_ with the person next to you.

Eventually, our laughter falls away, and Gale and Peeta's voices are still drifting in through the crack under the door. So I get up, put the painting back on the wall, and shut off the light. I crawl back in Johanna's small bed, where we lean against each other until the sound of our own breathing lulls us into sleep.

PB

Johanna's screaming wakes me up. It isn't long and drawn out like mine; her screams are short, wailing bursts that set every nerve of my body on edge.

"Johanna!" I say. I hold her arms down so she doesn't hit me when she comes to, and I shake her. "Johanna! Wake up!" I shake her again, and clamp my fingers down tighter on the top of her arms.

Like I guessed, she tries to swing at me when she wakes up. As soon as she realizes it's my face above hers, though, she calms down. "Sorry," she pants.

"It's alright," I say. I glance over at the clock, and it reads 06:30. There's no point in going back to sleep now. In the near-month we've lived together in District 13, our screams have woken each other up more times that I can count. Peeta doesn't scream, though; he just comes to, paralyzed with fear. I don't know which would be worse.

It's like we take turns caring for a child. When my screams wake both Peeta and Johanna, one of them goes and makes tea on the hot plate Peeta snuck in from Twelve. When Johanna's staccato shrieks wake us, one of us goes in to calm her down, and gives her a cup of coffee so she doesn't have to go back to sleep. We take turns tending to each other. It's fallen into a pattern.

"You alright?" I ask, after a minute of silence.

"Yeah," she breathes. "I wonder why Peeta didn't move you last night."

"I don't know," I answer, swinging my legs off the bed. I touch her arm. "Want some coffee?"

"Yeah," she tells me, pulling herself out of bed. "I'll make it, though."

"Alright," I say, and we walk out of the bedroom and flip on the light to see Peeta lying on the sofa. "What in the hell?"

"What—oh," says Johanna when she sees him. "When does he have training?"

"Seven-thirty, I think," I reply. "I'm not sure. I haven't seen his schedule."

Johanna kicks him in the leg. Peeta shoots straight up, his eyes wide. When he sees Johanna, his face relaxes. "Did I oversleep?"

"I don't know," she snaps irritably, moving to the small table in the middle of the compartment, where our contraband coffee maker sits.

"What time is it?" asks Peeta.

"A little past six thirty," I say. I move to sit next to him on the sofa. He puts his arm around me, kisses me sloppily on the forehead, and massages his stump with his spare hand. "Why'd you sleep on the couch?"

"Oh, Gale was tired and decided to stay here instead of go home," he says. I raise my eyebrows in surprise. "We made some progress last night," he adds, like he's answering my unspoken question. "I might even say we're friends now."

"Friends?" I ask, my eyebrows still lifted in surprise. "That's good. Surprising, but good."

"Yeah," he says. He rubs his fingers into his stump harder, and I move him away from me so he can rest his stump in my lap. I press my fingers into the taut skin where his leg ends, and he leans back on the sofa and groans. Johanna yells at Gale to wake up and get out of her house. "So are you actually getting a schedule today?"

"I always get a schedule," I tell him. "I just don't follow it." I press my fingers into the side of my stomach, where Haymitch Junior is kicking. When he finally stops, I keep massaging Peeta's leg. He groans again and tell me that it feels nice, so I keep doing it. Gale finally gets up and waves goodbye at all of us before ducking out the front door. When the clock gets close to seven, Peeta gets up from the sofa and sticks his arm in the hole in the wall. Black numbers and words spill out onto his arm and he rolls his eyes. I take a cursory glance at his arm and see that he's in training or Command most of the day. I do this every morning so I at least have some idea of where I can find him.

"I have to deal with training and Plutarch today," he complains. He tosses back the rest of his coffee, kisses me goodbye, and leaves. He must be slotted to have breakfast from 7:00 to 7:30. I get up and get my schedule—which is always the exact same as Johanna's and I'm sure Coin probably does that on purpose so as not to make me angry—and see that we don't have breakfast until later.

"Odd," I say, studying the words on my arm. "After breakfast, we're supposed to go to the hospital."

"Wonder why," says Johanna sarcastically, taking a drink of her coffee. "What else is on the agenda for the day?"

"Classes," I say, my nose wrinkling. "But we have no recre—oh!"

"What?" asks Johanna, rolling her eyes.

"I think Peeta must've asked about hunting, because I have 'outdoor recreation' on my schedule," I tell her. She perks up immediately. I know right away that we'll have to give all of the meat to the kitchen, but I don't really care. It'll just be nice to get outside. We have to wait until one o'clock to do it, which is annoying, but at least we get to wander around in the woods for a little while.

PB

We've just gotten in from dropping a game bag full of meat off at the kitchen when the broadcast begins. The television in the compartment turns on immediately, and the face of Caesar Flickerman is projected onto the screen. Johanna kicks me in the shin and points at the television in our compartment.

I sit up so quickly that blood rushes to my head and my vision blacks out for a few seconds. Caesar introduces himself and says, "There has been rampant speculation about what really happened in the Quarter Quell, so here to shed a little light on the subject is a very special guest. Please welcome," I hold my breath. "Mr. Finnick Odair! How are you tonight?" Since there are no shrieks from infatuated women in the audience, it's clear that this is a private interview. The camera pans from Caesar to Finnick, who gives a terse smile to the camera.

"Fine, thanks," he says in a poor imitation of his usually seductive purr. There are shadows under his eyes, and his white suit covers him from the neck down. So we can't really tell if he's been tortured. I look at Johanna. She looks quickly back at me, panic in her eyes.

"So, Finnick, there are quite a few people who feel as if they are in the dark," says Caesar.

Finnick's face is annoyed, like he's barely resisting the urge to roll his eyes. "Yes," he says tersely. "I can imagine why they feel that way."

"Can you talk us through what really happened that night?" asks Caesar.

This time, Finnick does roll his eyes. It's such a familiar, endearing gesture—he did that so much during training and in the arena—that I have to grin. "I think it's pretty obvious what happened, Caesar."

"I was more referring to the events leading up to it," says Caesar, his professional demeanor not fazed by Finnick sarcastic answer. "There has been speculation that you were a member of a rebel plot."

"That isn't speculation," says Finnick bluntly. "I was." Caesar's mouth begins to drop open in surprise, but he quickly recovers.

"And Katniss Everdeen-Mellark, was she a part of your plan? Her husband, Peeta? Johanna Mason?"

"The only two people in that arena who really knew what was going on were myself and Beetee Latier," answers Finnick. My heart drops. He's trying to protect us. He knows he can't protect Beetee, because it's obvious that Beetee was the architect behind our breakout.

"Okay, walk us through what happened that night," requests Caesar. "Could you tell us what was supposed to happen?"

"Do I have a choice?" asks Finnick. He chuckles mirthlessly and holds his hands up like he's surrendering. "Alright, alright. Beetee and I had planned from the beginning to use his wire and the lightning to blow up the force field. We wanted to get Katniss out."

"Why? Why did you want to get her out so badly?" Caesar asks, like he's genuinely curious.

"You know why," says Finnick. "The people in the districts see her as a symbol, and she is. She represents everything that's good and everything that's worth fighting for."

My eyes cloud over and tears start falling on my face. Finnick is sitting on a Capitol stage and championing me, even though he knows he will be tortured for it. Killed, even. Johanna grabs my hand and pulls me closer to her.

"What role did her husband, Peeta, play in this?" asks Caesar.

"Neither of them played any role," insists Finnick, who is starting to get upset. "Neither of them knew what was going to happen, Caesar, none of them did!"

"Alright," Caesar puts his hands out in a reconciliatory gesture. "Johanna Mason? We know now that during the fight between Katniss and Johanna, their trackers were cut out of their arms."

"I tricked Johanna into doing it," says Finnick flatly. "I told her to do it, and I didn't tell her why. All I told her was to trust me." Johanna grips my hand so tightly I can't feel my fingers, but I don't care. "I took advantage of our friendship and I used her as a means to achieve an end."

Both of us are crying now, really crying, because it isn't fair that Finnick is blatantly defending us, at risk to his own life.

"Now, what is confusing to many of us is that Katniss—the one Katniss you say had no knowledge of the rebel plot—is the one who blew out the arena. How would you explain that to our audience?" asks Caesar, and his tone isn't accusatory. It's the tone of someone who is really trying to understand someone's perspective—but it's all artifice.

"You can see how confused she was when you watch the footage, Caesar, anyone can. She saw Beetee lying on the ground, and she was trying to put two and two together. She trusted me, and she trusted Beetee. So she did what Beetee was planning to do, trusting us blindly that is was the right thing," says Finnick. His voice is loud and harsh now. "She had idea what was going on! None of them did!"

"Alright, Finnick, I believe you," says Caesar. "I believe you. It's just that some people are calling it suspicious."

"If she'd really been part of the plan—and Johanna—do you think they would've almost killed each other during their fight? Do you think that was part of their plan, Caesar? Sustaining massive head trauma? No, it wasn't. They weren't part of any plan, no more than Peeta was. And I think that we can all agree that Peeta had no idea what was going on," says Finnick. He's clutching the arms of his chair so tightly his knuckles turn white.

"What would you say to them if they knew you were watching?" asks Caesar.

Finnick hesitates a moment before answering, "I would tell all three of them that I'm thankful for their friendship and that I miss them every single day. I'm sorry—Katniss, Johanna, Peeta—for taking advantage of you and using you as pawns. It wasn't fair of me. But I also don't regret saving you, and I never will. I chose this," Finnick says, looking into the camera seriously. I know he's reaching into that dark part of our minds that feel responsible for what's happening to him. Johanna lets out a loud, rasping sob. "I chose this. Don't feel guilty. I miss you all."

"Alright, Finnick," says Caesar anxiously, like he's gone a step too far. "I was going to ask you to speak about the unrest in the districts, but if you're too upset—"

"No, I'm not too upset for that," says Finnick, focusing his eyes on the camera again. Suddenly, I am afraid for him. _Just say what they want you to say, Finnick,_ I pray, hoping that somehow my thoughts will reach him. _Say what they want. _ "To those of you across the country who are fighting—and especially those in my home district—don't stop. It's worth every drop of blood spilled and—" The broadcast cuts off.

"What are they doing to him?" I yell, throwing my glass at the wall. "What are they going to do to him?"

Beside me, Johanna is yelling every foul word she knows—which is a lot—at the television, stomping around and throwing things, "Why did you do that, Finnick?" she screams. "Just say what they want, for fuck's sake!" she yells, as if Finnick will hear her words if she screams them loud enough. She half groans, half screams and aims her fist at the wall behind the sofa. Her fist doesn't break it, though, so she keeps swinging at the wall, and I have to put my arms around her chest and pull her, kicking and screaming away from the wall. She thrashes around in my arms, but I lock them even tighter around her chest, lifting her into the air.

"Johanna," I say, trying to get my words to reach her through her sobs. "Johanna, Johanna, calm down."

"I can't calm down!" she sobs. "Finnick is probably being beaten to death right now, and he still trying to protect us and—"

"I _know,_" I say loudly. "I know." My own words turn to feeble sobs, but I don't relinquish my hold on her, because she's kicking and trying to hit something again. Her elbow swings back and catches me in the eye and I grunt from the pain, but if I let her go she's going to destroy the entire compartment and hurt herself in the process.

Thankfully, Peeta comes running through the door right then, and his eyes widen at the scene. I threw a glass against the wall and broke it, and Johanna threw hers, too—along with a few other things, I have no idea what—and kicked a few dents in the wall. I'm sure it looks like we've gone insane, because Johanna is still thrashing around, and I've got my arms locked around her still.

"Help me," I yell to him, and he moves into action, pulling Johanna away from me and tossing her over his shoulder like she weights two pounds. I think she hits him a few times as he's carrying her away from me.

He tosses her down on the sofa and tells her, "Stay down or I will restrain you." Then he looks at me and asks, "Are you okay?"

"Neither of us are okay, Peeta," I tell him. My tears have gone, but I feel like someone punched me so hard in the stomach that I can't catch my breath. "It isn't fair, Peeta, it isn't fair."

He pulls me into his arms and murmurs, "I know, baby, I know." When he lets go of me, he kneels down next to Johanna, whose anger has turned into crying. Seeing Johanna crying is unnerving, and it makes me feel like the ground underneath my feet isn't solid anymore. "I'm sorry, Johanna," says Peeta. Peeta's own eyes are glossy with tears; he must be as torn up about Finnick as we are. He must miss Finnick, too.

I go over to Johanna, remembering all of the times she's pulled me out of that dark place in my mind, and say, "Don't give him want he wants, Johanna. He wants you to break. He wants us to stop fighting back. Finnick told us to keep fighting, and we have to, Johanna, or else we're letting Snow turn us into a weapon against ourselves."

I force the words out, and even though I know they're true, they taste bad on my tongue. She looks up at me with angry, resigned, sad, tearful eyes and nods. "This is what we're going to do. We're going to let ourselves be weak, just for a little bit. We're going to lay down in bed, and we're going to be sad and angry and weak. Just for a couple of hours. When those hours are up, we're going to get up and we're going to fight back. For Finnick," I tell her. "We owe him that much."

Peeta is looking at me and I see hundreds, thousands, millions of emotions in the blue of his eyes. I don't know what he sees in mine. But Peeta nods at me, and I know that I've married a fighter. He might be better than the rest of us, but he knows how to fight back. That's what we do—Johanna, Peeta, Finnick, Haymitch, Chaff, Beetee and me—we fight.

So Peeta carries Johanna to our bedroom. He lays her down and scoots in next to her. I lay down next to him. Peeta puts his arms around us and Johanna's hand, resting on Peeta's stomach, finds my own. And that's all we do. We lay, linked together by loss and friendship and love, and let ourselves be weak. But only for a couple of hours.


	33. Addressing Some Questions and Concerns!

**This is not a new chapter, this is just a quick post addressing some concerns that a guest reviewer dropped in for me, and some concerns the rest of you might have: **

**Gale and Katniss ****_do_**** still need to talk, and they will. I felt it was more important for Peeta and Gale to overcome the obvious tension between them before Katniss and Gale took the steps to address what was wrong between them. I didn't want an argument between Peeta and Gale to be the reason that Katniss finally spoke to him about all of this; I wanted her to go to Gale of her own volition, because she missed him enough to want to fix things. Katniss is not abandoning Gale, not in any sense of the word. These are my thoughts on Katniss right now: in times when you're feeling tested, you turn to the people who not only understand exactly what you're feeling, but have the ability to draw you out of the dark corners of your mind and make everything make sense to you again. This is what Johanna is doing with Katniss, and what Katniss is doing with Johanna. They're both messed up people-not by any fault of their own-and they're also very similar, at the very core of things. They both process guilt and grief in the same way. Blame yourself and shove all of the grief down until you're an automaton who shuts out the world. This is why the Katniss and Johanna friendship is so important to me. Kind of 'takes one to know one,' sort of situation. No matter how much history she has with Gale or Madge, neither of them can understand her scars from the Games the same way that Johanna can. (I have, personally, three different best friends, and I love each of them. But one in particular is my Johanna; she thinks the way I do, she blames herself the way I do, and she is the only person in the world that can pull me out of the dark corners of my mind. I do the same for her. I depend on her much more than I depend on the others, even though I've known one of them much longer than I've known my Johanna.)**

**Also, I don't necessarily think that Katniss is replacing Gale with Johanna. I think that, at this point in her life, with Finnick being gone and her district being destroyed, she is gravitating towards someone that understands her repressed hostility and her guilt. That would be Johanna. Johanna has always felt guilty because she felt she didn't protect the people she loved well enough, and felt that their deaths were her fault. Johanna is, right now, the friend that's pulling Katniss out of a dark place. That's why she's putting Johanna before Gale and Madge-and even Peeta-because right now she doesn't need someone trying to reassure her. She needs someone who will understand, in every way, the guilt that she feels and use hard logic to help her cope. **

**Madge is, in no way, going to be a consolation prize for Gale. I think Peeta is more perceptive than anyone gives him credit for, and just like Katniss would've chosen Peeta in the end because he is everything she is not, Gale would've chosen Madge in the end. I'm sorry if I implied that with the 'try Madge,' comment that Peeta made, but I more meant it in a, 'There's someone who cares about you a lot and instead of moping about someone you'll never have, why don't you try realizing what's in front of you' type of way. When I went back and reread, I totally realize that it came across as kind of crass. Katniss doesn't want Madge to be a consolation prize. Neither does Peeta. Johanna suggests it because she's crass and rude, and in my mind, Johanna is totally the type of person who would say 'the best way to get over someone is to get under someone else.' Katniss wants Gale to be happy, and she wants Madge to be happy. In no version of my story would I want one of Katniss's best friends to be a consolation prize and a second place. I was always going to write it this way, but since it's been brought up as a concern: Gale and Madge became friends. But Gale, right now, is unable to separate himself from the history he has with Katniss. Because Katniss is pretty much all he's ever known, he thinks that she is the type of the girl that he needs. Thus him trying to start something with Johanna. But in the coming chapters-after a Gale/Katniss confrontation-I think that Gale is going to gravitate more towards Madge because she's different from him and she's different from Katniss. Falling in love with someone ****_is_**** a journey. Gale isn't just going to realize overnight that Madge is what he needs. But he'll begin to move towards her, and realize-just as Katniss did-that he doesn't need someone with fire. He needs someone who can counter his fire with hope and optimism and rebirth. At that point, he ****_will_**** realize that this probably would've happened anyway. I hope that clears things up on the Gale and Madge front.**

**Johanna is an antagonistic person, and that is the reason Katniss hasn't jumped immediately to Madge's defense; she knows that Johanna's hostility and tendency to insult everyone isn't anything personal and is more based on Johanna's tendency to be hostile to anyone and everyone. However, I am still developing this particular plot line, so my dear guest reviewer, I beg you not to be hasty because there ****_is_**** more coming. I totally get all of your concerns, and that's why I'm writing this little blurb. I've barely touched on this part of the subplot, but I've been planning a confrontation between Madge, Johanna, and Katniss. I don't think it's a question of competition between the two for her friendship. It's very much based on the fact that Madge and Johanna could not be more different, and in that respect, Katniss's friendship is radically different with each of them. There'll be a confrontation between the three of them, and Katniss ****_will_**** snap at both of them. Madge doesn't like Johanna for her own reasons-not just because her and Gale had a brief sexual relationship, but because she feels that Johanna crosses too many lines in her daily life, like her undressing in front of Peeta to antagonize Katniss-and that's what will spur the confrontation. Madge will stand up for what she thinks is right, and Johanna will snap at her, most likely for 'pretending to understand her,' or something like that. Katniss will defend both of them, because she isn't just loyal to Johanna, she's loyal to everyone she loves. Katniss is just easier to provoke when someone insults Johanna because their experiences are similar enough that she almost feels like it's a personal attack on her. I hope that all made sense.**

**I know that Madge isn't ditzy or rude or idiotic. But when I'm writing Johanna Mason, I have to think about how she'd refer to someone she barely knows, and I believe that's in a rude, antagonistic way. That's the default for Johanna. **

**Most of these concerns that I'm addressing are premature considering the fact that I had already planned on developing the storyline further. I do really, really appreciate reviewers who want to give me constructive criticism, because it makes my writing better. To my guest reviewer: PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE make an account so I can PM you and hear your thoughts. You make really excellent points, and I hope to hear from you.**

**Anyway, I hope this post addressed any of your concerns/questions, and if any of you have more, drop me a review or PM me. I know it was kind of rambling, but I really hope I articulated my thought process so it made sense. I'm working on the next chapter now, so thank you all for reading! Love you all x**


	34. Chapter 33

In the two weeks since Gale stayed in my compartment, he hasn't spoken to me once. He hasn't even looked at me, except for during our stupid question and answer propos. The rebellion is progressing slowly, and Peeta and Plutarch are still working out a strategy for appealing to Districts 1 and 2. Johanna and Gale—to the best of my knowledge—are still seeing each other.

Right now, I'm lying in bed, listening to the sound of Peeta's snores. I'm tired of the distance that seems to exist between my old life and my new one. Gale—who I used to know better than anyone in the world—is unreadable and unreachable, moving further away from me every day. Gale, who I used to tell my every secret to, is not my confidant anymore. I cannot tell him about the panic attacks that hit me out of nowhere sometimes, when I feel the baby's foot wedge under my ribs and the terror seizes my chest. When the questions start filling my mind._ What if he dies before I ever get to meet him? What if lose the rebellion and Snow kills him right in front of me? What if we lose the rebellion and our punishment is his name in the Reaping bowls? _ I can't go to Gale, I can't tell him any of it. Because it will be a constant reminder to him that he is not the one that I love. That he never would've been the one that I loved. I can't tell him about my guilt over District 12, because he'll tell me that I wasn't there. I didn't see the homes of our neighbors go up in flames, children running from burning buildings, their bodies turned into human torches. He'd tell me that I have no place feeling guilty, because I was a thousand miles away, and he'd tell me that it was only a matter of time before Snow did something like that, anyway.

So I go to Johanna, who tells me the crippling guilt and depression that hit her after her family and boyfriend were killed by Snow-only because she didn't take him seriously enough-was enough to make her feel like she was being buried alive. Eventually she tells me that she shoved it down into a place where no one could see it, and it was easier to deal with that way. It was easier to live every single day, because even if she felt nothing, that was better than waking up and feeling the weight of what Snow did—what she thought she did—crush her again. She tells me that it was Finnick who made her see sense, who made her see that none of it was her fault. Not what she did in the Games, not the people she loved dying. It didn't make the nightmares go away, but it was enough to free her from some of her guilt.

Peeta's body stops moving restlessly next to me, and his breathing spikes. I know he's about to come to from a nightmare, so I move closer to him so the first thing he sees when he wakes up is my face, so he knows I'm alive. _Most of my nightmares are about losing you,_ he told me once. Minutes later Peeta's eyes fly open and his chest heaves with panic. "I'm here," I murmur. "I'm alive, I'm okay." His eyes move all over my face, and his fingers do, too. It calms him down faster than anything else, so I let him do it.

When his breathing finally slows to a normal rate, he asks, "Why are you still awake?"

"I was thinking about Gale," I tell him. "I miss him."

"Go talk to him," murmurs Peeta, pulling me into his arms. I feel the steady thud of his heart underneath my ear, and it grounds me. _Thank God for this,_ I think to myself again, as I do multiple times every day. His heartbeat is a reminder to me that not everything good has been stolen from me, and reminds me that there is still hope. He is a living, breathing dandelion in the spring. The promise of rebirth, the promise of better days to come.

"I love you," I tell him. "So much."

"I know you do, sweetheart. I love you even more. Go talk to Gale."

"It's three o'clock in the morning," I tell Peeta.

"Just go," Peeta rolls over. "Better you do it now when you're thinking about it. If you don't, you'll probably wake up in the morning and talk yourself out of it."

"That's why I went over to your house the night before your Tour," I tell him, I lean over and kiss the soft spot on the back of his neck. "I missed you more than anything, and I knew that if I didn't tell you right then, I'd lose my nerve."

"Thank God you did," he murmurs, already half-asleep again. "I'll see you in the morning. I love you."

"Me, too," I tell him, kissing his neck again. I pull on one of his sweatshirts and slip out into the hall, my slippers making no noise on the cold ground.

I don't think about what I want to say to Gale, because if I do, then I'll just get confused and nervous and everything will come out wrong. That's what happens every single time I try to plan what I say in a propo. I roll my eyes, because Plutarch is still trying to figure out what to do with me.

When I reach his door, I knock quietly. I don't know whether I want him to answer or not. But to my surprise, he's at the door in seconds, and he's fully dressed.

"Hi," I say softly.

"Hi," says Gale, voice not quite as hard as I was expecting.

"Can I come in?"

"Guess so," he says, and pulls the door open wider for me. He looks pointedly at my round belly, and adds, "It's not really appropriate for a married, pregnant woman to be visiting in the middle of the night."

"Peeta knows I'm here," I snap at him, but it's all wrong. I shouldn't be snapping at him, and he shouldn't be implying that I'm here for sex. "I'm sorry."

"So am I," he sighs. He sits on his bed—unlike our compartment, there are no bedrooms, everything is in one room, we must've been given a luxury compartment—and motions to a chair in the middle of the room. Instead, I sit on the bed next to him.

"I've been thinking about you and about us," I tell him. "I feel like I've been a bad friend to you."

"You have been," he says baldly. His words sting, but I force myself to continue.

"No, you just don't understand, Gale. That's the whole problem with all of this, you don't understand! I-I-the Games changed me. Anyone can see that. But you just want to go on pretending that the Games never happened, that I'm still the same Katniss, and I can't."

"You're always going to be Katniss," he says.

"No, I—" I stop myself in my tracks and ask him instead, "Be honest with me. Which bothers you more: that I have a life with Peeta or that you think I've replaced you with Johanna?"

"Peeta," he says immediately. "I don't have any problems with him anymore, as a person. Anyone with eyes can see that he's a good guy and he treats you well. But I can't help but remember our lives before the Games and think that you should've ended up with me."

"Gale," I begin. I look at his gray eyes, exactly the same shade as mine. "I love you. I do. I'd do anything for you. But you know that the love I feel for you, have always felt for you, isn't the same love that I feel for him. I don't want to hurt you, but I want to make you understand why it's him, why it's always been him."

"I think I can try and toughen up my sensibilities," he tries to joke. Then he adds more seriously, "Katniss, I meant what I said back before the Quell. I don't want to lose you. I want to try and understand."

"Okay," I take a deep breath. "Think of three words to describe me. First three words that come into your head."

"Stubborn," he says immediately. "Sullen. Brave."

"Alright," I nod to myself. "I was expecting the first two, not the third. Let's just say that you replaced 'brave' with 'pessimistic' or 'guarded.' What would you have if you put two pessimistic people together?"

"A shit ton of misery," he replies right away.

"Two stubborn people?"

"Arguments over stupid, mundane things and never being able to resolve them."

"Two sullen people?"

"An inability to see the good in anything."

"Two guarded people?"

"A relationship where no one lets their guard down completely," responds Gale.

"Gale," I say. "I'm stubborn, sullen, pessimistic, and guarded. And so are you. You said it yourself. If we collided like that, it never would have worked. You said it yourself," I repeat. "Gale, when I'm being stubborn, I need someone who's willing to reason with me. When I'm being pessimistic and sullen, and refuse to believe that anything good exists, I need someone who will be able to remind me that better days will come. I need someone is unguarded and can break down my walls, not build them up more. That's Peeta, Gale. Peeta is everything that I need to survive, because he knows the darkness in me and he knows how to fight it. He fights the darkness in me with the light in him. That's why," I take a deep breath, because I know this will hurt him, "I never could've loved you. It never would've been you, Games or no Games. I would've found my way to him eventually, and he's the only one I could've loved like this."

"You're leaving out all of the good things, Katniss," he protests, refusing to listen to me. "You're not just sullen and pessimistic and stubborn. You're a revolutionary and you're brave and loyal and the people you do love, you'd do anything for. I'm the same way. Can't we bring out the good in each other? Couldn't it work that way?"

"No," I say sharply. "Gale, no. I just told you exactly why it never would've worked. Listen to me. I know what I'm saying is hurting you and I hate myself for it, but I would also hate myself if I sat here and lied to you just to make you feel better. Maybe if you know that it was never you and it was never going to be you, you can let me go. There is someone out there that will love you the way you need. Maybe it's Madge, maybe not. But Gale, it isn't me. When you find her, you'll know. You'll realize that what you felt for me was a shadow of what you feel for her."

"Is that what you felt when you fell in love with Peeta?" he asks, his voice hushed.

"Yes," I tell him. "I love him, Gale, enough to start a family with him, enough to marry him. Enough that anything I could've felt for you was just . . . gone. Peeta and me, it would've happened anyway. The Games just sped it up."

Gale's eyes are full of tears and I hate myself, I hate myself for hurting him like this. "Katniss, I love you."

"I know," is all I say. After a while, though, I say, "Trust me. Real love isn't supposed to be agony. It's hard, and it's an uphill battle, but love isn't supposed to be like this. Please, please, please move on. Johanna isn't the way to do that. I know you're trying to lose me in Johanna, but it won't work, because she's just like me. Move on. Eventually, you'll find someone who is the exact opposite of me, and you'll love her more than anything," I tell him, tears of my own coming to my eyes. "I promise."

"No one is going to replace you," he says, his tears finally spilling over.

"I don't want you to find someone to replace me," I say. My voice is shaky, but I keep going. "I want you to find someone that you'll love more than you ever could've loved me. I want you to find someone that pulls you out of dark places. And I'll still be there, by your side. I'll always be your best friend, Gale. Always. Nothing will ever change that."

His rough fingers clasp my own tightly, and he asks, "It was always going to be him?"

"Yes," I say. "It was always him, even before I knew him."

"You love him?"

"More than anything," I tell him. A single tear falls on my cheek, but I brush it away impatiently and grasp his hand even harder. "Give Madge a chance, Gale. I'm not saying just try to love her because she's second best. I'm saying that she knows you. Better than anyone else in this dungeon, and better than anyone else in the country. She knows your dark side. Give her a chance, because she could be your Peeta."

"You know how Peeta told me that I'll never understand you the way he does, because you were in the Games together?"

"Yes," I say warily.

"I was too afraid to tell him that sometimes, I think you'll never understand how it felt to watch Twelve burn to the ground."

"I know," I tell him. "I won't. Our lives took different directions the second I volunteered to take Prim's place in the Games. There are things you'll never understand about me, and things I'll never understand about you. Just because we've changed doesn't mean we can't be as close as we were."

"I guess," he says. "I just want to know one more thing."

"What's that?"

"Are you replacing me with Johanna?"

I sigh. "No. She understands my dark side, just like Peeta does, and I understand hers. She's my best friend, too, but in a different way. You and I have a history together. Her and I share the same set of scars," I almost smile, remembering Peeta's words. "I need her, Gale. But I want you in my life, I want my old best friend back, too."

"I'll always be your best friend," he says. He gives me a shaky, tremulous smile, and pulls me to my feet. Then he pulls me into his arms, and it feels desperate. It feels like the last moment before you say goodbye.

"Me, too," I tell him, wrapping my arms around him just as tightly.

PB

"How'd it go?" asks Peeta, pulling on a shirt. I snuggle deeper into the covers.

"Fine, I think," I answer. "I had to explain, in-depth, why I love you and not him. So that was painful."

"For him or for you?" he asks. He loops a gray belt through his training uniform. I reach up and grab the belt loop of his pants and pull him closer.

"Both," I say, pulling him on the bed and shifting closer to him so my head lies in his lap. I look up at him, feel the now-familiar swell of love in my heart. "I don't like to hurt him. But I had to say it, or he'd never let me go."

"I'm proud of you," says Peeta, brushing the hair out of my face, running his fingers down my cheekbones and along my jaw. "And I love you, so much it feels like it'll kill me sometimes."

"Me, too," I say, kissing his palm.

"I have to go," he says. He leans down to kiss me, and the soft, feathery touch of his lips sends shivers through me.

"We have a doctor's appointment later today," I tell him.

"I know. It's on my arm," he reminds me.

"Alright, sweetheart," I say mockingly. "I'll see you there."

"Love you," he says, glancing back at me one more time before he opens the door.

PB

Johanna is studying the photo Dr. Borley gave us at the lunch table. She gave us a photo similar to the last one, but she also did a different kind of ultrasound—I think that was the word she used—called a four-dimensional ultrasound. What's different about this ultrasound is that it shows what the baby actually looks like; Haymitch Junior little face and his tiny, curled up body.

"The kid looks creepy as hell," observes Johanna. "Not that he isn't, like, beautiful, or whatever. His head is too big for his body."

"That's rude," snaps Madge from across the table. Everyone at the table—Peeta, Johanna, Gale, Prim, Rory, and I—look up in surprise. Madge is never really rude to anyone; she's always been a bit short with Johanna, but never outright rude. "What? She is. If no one else is going to say it, I will."

Madge, who is nowhere near done with her food, turns red then, and shovels the rest of her food into her mouth so quickly I'm sure she'll vomit it back up. As soon as her tray is clean, she practically runs out of the cafeteria.

"What was that about?" asks Peeta.

"She doesn't like me," intones Johanna. She shoves a spoonful of soup into her mouth.

"I know she doesn't like you," Peeta rolls his eyes. "But she usually never snaps at you—or anyone else—like that."

I look uncomfortably at my plate, because it doesn't feel right to talk about Madge with a tableful of people when she isn't here. It feels petty, even if no one is saying anything bad.

"Goody two-shoes is probably still upset about Gale," says Johanna, elbowing him in the ribs. Gale doesn't smile.

"Drop the subject," I fume at all of them. "Don't talk about Madge."

"Why not? We all know that's why she's upset," retorts Johanna.

"Or she doesn't like you because every time you open your mouth, you cross a line!" I snap at her, turning to give her a nasty look. "There are a thousand reasons why Madge doesn't like you, Johanna! Don't make her into a petty, jealous person that's pissed off that you're sleeping with the guy she likes. Madge isn't a fourteen year old girl. Drop. It." Johanna pushes me with her left hand and I push her back.

"Those are fighting words," glares Johanna, shoving me again. I slap her hand away.

"I've said worse to you," I hiss. "Get over it." I snatch the ultrasound picture out of her hand and pick up my empty tray, angrily tossing it in the pile of dirty dishes. Whatever. Johanna will get over it in five minutes.

I love Johanna, I do. I think, most of the time, that when she crosses a line, it's justified. She's blatantly honest and it's refreshing, but that's how I feel. But Johanna doesn't consider that people can be hurt by her honesty and lack of filter.

Most of the time her candor is nice; most of the time her candor isn't limited to insults. She mostly doesn't try to sugar coat anything, because she values the truth too much. Like when she told me on the hovercraft that she _did_, in fact, think Snow sent someone to kill my family. She valued me knowing the truth more than me feeling better. That's a trait that I value in people.

Madge values honesty, too, but I know that she draws lines where Johanna does not. Blatant honesty isn't a good thing anymore when it starts to hurt people. If Madge had been on that hovercraft, no doubt she would've told me that told me that my family was okay, just to make me feel better. I can't fault her for that. Madge is an honest person, but she also has the sensitivity to avoid hurting people whenever she can.

I'm surprised when Gale appears at my side.

"Hey," he says. He smiles feebly at me.

"Hi," I tell him. "Why'd you leave the cafeteria?"

"I ended things with Johanna before lunch today," he admits. "I think you were right about me trying to lose you in Johanna. Or maybe I was trying to find you in her. I don't know, maybe they're the same thing."

"How'd she take it?" I ask.

"She didn't care," laughs Gale.

"Figures," I snort. The weak smile on my face fades when I speculate, "I can't help but feel that Madge is upset that I'm closer to Johanna than her now."

"Madge doesn't hold that against you," answers Gale.

"You don't know that," I counter.

"I do. She told me."

"When?"

"Not long after we got to Thirteen," explains Gale. "You have to give Madge more credit, Katniss. She's a really understanding person. She knows that she'll never understand what you went through in the Games, and she knows that Johanna does. She doesn't fault you for it."

"That makes me feel even worse," I groan. I decide to change the subject. "How long have you and Madge been friends? It sounds like you know her pretty well."

He looks hesitant, stuffing his hands into his pockets as we walk. "Sometime during your first Games. She was worried about you, and so was I. She didn't have anyone to watch the Games with, because her father was always so busy, so she would sit alone in the Square. One day she came up to me and asked if I was okay."

"I'm guessing your response left a little to be desired," I laugh. He chuckles a little bit, too.

"I guess," he snorts. "The next day, I felt bad, so I found her in the Square and apologized. She didn't even bat an eye. Told me that it was perfectly understandable, considering how scared I must've been. She bought some of those goat cheese apple tarts—you know, the ones Peeta talked about during the Games—and we ate them together while we watched. Kind of formed a habit."

"Madge and I—even after the Games—were never really the kind of friends that talked a lot," I say. "She'd come over for dinner or I'd watch her play the piano. It was more just enjoying each other's presence."

"We talked quite a bit," says Gale. "She's an easy person to talk to. Least she is for me."

"Maybe she knew I didn't want to talk," I speculate. "After I came home, the Games were all I could think about. Before Peeta and I got back together, I didn't want to talk very much to anyone because I knew I would talk about the Games. I didn't want anyone to have to listen. Later, the only person I could really talk to was Peeta."

"Katniss," begins Gale. There's an extremely hesitant, wary look in his eyes. I notice that we've come to a halt in a hallway near his compartment. "What were the Games like?"

I inhale sharply. Pictures of dead bodies flash in front of my eyes. Tracker jacker hallucinations. Watching the life bleed out of someone's eyes after you've killed them. Feeling the black mark of murder on your hands and never being able to wash it off. The _fear_, the paralyzing, never-ending fear of the arena, even after you've left it. I sink down to the floor, not because I'm having a panic attack, but because I want to try to explain it to Gale and I'm tired of standing. I motion to the floor next to me. He sits down.

"The Games are a nightmare that's almost impossible to describe," I breathe. "But I'll try. Killing a person is . . . Gale, it's one thing to watch someone die. It's another, more horrifying thing to kill someone. Watch the light leave their eyes, watch their body stop moving—and it's all because of you. I'll never forget their faces. I see them in my dreams every night," I say, my voice hushed. "There hasn't been a day since I left the arena that I haven't felt their blood on my hands. Six people, Gale. I killed _six people._ The girl from 4. Glimmer. Marvel. Cato. The man from 5 in the Quell. Gloss." My breathing hitches a little bit, but I try to shove all of what I feel into a compartment, like Johanna does. "There are a lot of words people use to try and describe me and what I am: daughter, sister, tribute, victor, ally, friend, wife, rebel, Mockingjay . . . but really, the only word there is to describe me is 'murderer.' It's the first thing I think every morning. The last before I fall asleep. 'My name is Katniss Everdeen-Mellark, and I'm a murderer.'"

"Katniss—" Gale tries to interrupt, but I don't let him.

"Stop," I hold my hand up. "You wanted to know what the Games are like, so I'm telling you. Yes, Gale, I'm a murderer. So is Johanna, so is Finnick, so is Beetee, so is Haymitch. I don't think of Peeta that way because he's different than the rest of us, but he thinks of himself that way. We're all murderers, and we all know it. Moving on. The next thing about the arena that is almost indescribable is seeing the carnage of children being murdered in front of you. Not as scarring as _being_ the one who murders children, but scarring nonetheless. I wanted to hate my enemies in the arena. I wanted to hate Cato and Clove and Glimmer and Marvel. But I couldn't, because they were just as much a pawn as I was. As I _am,_" I correct myself. "How different were we, really? Cato killed children. Clove killed children. And so did I, Gale. I killed children just like they did. So who is there left to hate? The Capitol? Yes, I hated them. But I couldn't use my bow and arrow to kill them, Gale. I couldn't do anything to them. So all of the hate that I felt went back inside of me. I hated myself already for what I had done in the arena, but I allowed the hatred I felt for the Capitol to eat away at me." I stop for a moment and clear my throat. The words that leave my mouth taste like blood and ashes and the bodies of children I killed, but I force them out anyway. "Glimmer's body disintegrated in my hands, Gale. She was so lumpy and swollen that she didn't even look like a human anymore. When the mutts were through with Cato, he looked like a hunk of raw meat. You could _see_ the dent in Clove's skull from the rock Thresh hit her with. From her shallow breathing, I could practically hear a clock ticking down the last minutes of her life. And Rue," I say, the words sounding more like a sob. "She was too small and too young and too gentle for the Games. I couldn't save her. I watched the blood seep out of her tiny body and felt her take her last breath and I couldn't do _anything._ I could only sing her to death and bury her in flowers, and it wasn't enough, it will never be enough. Wolf mutts and tracker jackers and fireballs-you don't know fear until you've been in that place."

"Katniss," Gale breathes. "You don't have to tell me anymore." I look up at him and see that his face has turned a faint shade of green. I remember why, now, I never talked about the Games to people who hadn't survived them.

But I ignore him, because he _did_ ask. "The fear, Gale. The fear never leaves you. Not just fear for myself and my own life, but for Peeta's, too. From the second you enter the arena, you will never, not for as long as you live, feel safe again. The fear doesn't stop when you win. It stays, and it haunts your every breath and stalks your footsteps. I will never feel safe again, not until the day that I die. Neither will any of us. That's the worst part, worse than being a murderer and worse than experiencing all of the horrors of the arena. That I will never stop being afraid."

Gale is silent for a long time, and he wiggles his leg incessantly, like there are too many things going on in his brain to articulate. Finally he says, "How did you get over it?"

"I didn't, Gale, obviously I didn't! None of us do, none of us _can._ I can find some happiness with Peeta, sure. But nothing will ever make their faces go away. Nothing will ever get rid of the blood on my hands, and nothing will ever get rid of my fear. The arena follows you everywhere until you die," I say in a deadpan voice. "Having Peeta helped me," I admit. "He saves me every day. I save him, too. Johanna helps me, I help her. Finnick," I say, almost unable to say his name, "has suffered more than every single one of us, but he still helped Johanna deal with her Games. We find strength in each other."

"I'm sorry that I asked," he says quietly.

"Don't be," I nearly snap. "Eventually I was going to have to talk about it."

After a few minutes of uncomfortable silence, he stands up and pulls me to my feet. We look at each other awkwardly for a few seconds, and Gale blurts out, "Anyway, after the Tour you were so busy with everything that Madge and I starting spending time together."

I laugh because of how quickly he reverts to what we were talking about before. I'm still shaky from telling him about the Games, but I ask, "I wonder why she didn't tell me. She only told me you started seeing each other after the Tour."

"You know why, Katniss," Gale rolls his eyes. "She thought that you loved me. She didn't want to upset you."

We walk around the corner, where Gale's compartment is, and I'm surprised to see that Madge is sitting on the ground outside, leaning against the door of his compartment, looking tired. I only realize now how much her face has changed since she came to Thirteen more than a month ago. It's sharper and more angular. Her eyes hold a little grief and anger, but mostly, she just seems tired. Her body's changed, too. Madge's body is harder and leaner than it was before, probably from the military training she's receiving here. She was beautiful before, but she's even more beautiful now.

"Can I talk to you?" she asks Gale tiredly. When she smiles at me, I can see that there are tears in her eyes. Maybe she's tired of always being overlooked by Gale. Maybe she's tired of trying to hide how she feels about him from me. Maybe she's tired of being antagonized by Johanna. Maybe she's just tired of seeing District 12 on fire every time she closes her eyes. Maybe she's tired of everything.

Whatever it is I see in her tears, it pulls on my heart a little bit, so I ask, "Madge, are you alright?"

She laughs a little bit, humorlessly, and says, "No, not really."

"Come to my compartment when you're done talking. Peeta snuck our coffeemaker in from Twelve," I say, hoping my bad attempt at humor will at least make her laugh a little. She manages a smile.

"Alright, Katniss, thanks," she says. Gale pulls her up by the hand and tugs her into his compartment. I pretend that I'm walking away as he's closing the door, but I circle back thirty seconds later. I don't do it to be nosy. I just want to know the things that are bothering her, the things she doesn't tell me.

"I see them everywhere," says Madge tiredly. "You know I'm sad about my father dying, but that's not all. I-I-God, all I see when I close my eyes to sleep are people's bodies melting away from the fire."

"I know," whispers Gale. "That's all I see, too."

"I miss you, Gale," says Madge softly.

"I'm right here," he says, trying to chuckle, but failing.

"You know what I mean, _brainless,_" she says, and I suppose I should be upset that she's mocking Johanna. But I'm not, probably because Johanna wouldn't care that much, either. "I miss how it used to be. Just you and me. I hate not seeing you as much as I used to."

"I don't like it either," replies Gale. "But what we're training for is important, Madge."

"I know that," she sighs, annoyed. "I'm proud that, when the time comes, I'll be fighting on the streets of the Capitol. We'll finally be getting back at them. You know that isn't what I mean. I don't know, Gale, I'm just tired. I miss my dad."

"Hey," protests Gale in a gentle, soft tone that sounds unfamiliar to me. "You know he would be proud of what you're doing."

"I guess," she replies. "Gale, I know you're sleeping with Johanna Mason."

I hear a sharp intake of breath and know that Gale wished to avoid this subject altogether.

"Yeah, I _was_," he answers awkwardly. "I ended it."

"Why? Because it upset Katniss?" asks Madge. She isn't trying to be spiteful or mean. She's genuinely wondering if that was the reason why.

"No," he says. "Because it upset you." From what he told me at the lunch table, I gather that what he says is not entirely true. Maybe that was part of the reason he ended it, but not all of it. Thankfully, Gale continues, "That isn't the only reason. I guess I just thought that Johanna would help me get over Katniss. I was trying to find part of Katniss in Johanna, and thought maybe it would help me stop missing her so much."

"But it didn't," observes Madge.

"No, it didn't," says Gale. "Katniss came here and talked to me last night—well, this morning, technically—because she wanted me to see sense. She told me that the reason she loved Peeta is that he's everything she's not. The light in him counteracts the dark in her, something like that. Dark and dark don't go well together, Katniss told me. I realized after she left that she was right. And she was right about me trying to replace her with Johanna."

"This doesn't have anything to do with me," says Madge carefully.

"It does. Katniss told me last night that someday, I'd find someone that knew how to fight the darkness in my mind. And I think that someone is you."

"You love Katniss," says Madge, in that careful, wary tone of voice.

"Yeah, I do. But I realized after she left last night that she was right about something else, too. Her and I . . . we never would have worked. We're too much alike. It doesn't make the feelings go away completely, but it helped me let go of some things. I think I'm ready to move on. I'm ready to try."

"I won't be your second place," says Madge steadily.

"I don't want you to be."

At that, I leave quietly.

PB

Madge comes by a couple of hours later, looking marginally happier. Johanna is gone and Peeta is in the shower, so we sit on the couch, drink coffee, and true to the quiet nature of Madge and I's friendship, watch a movie that is being broadcast on a hijacked Capitol station. Peeta gets out of the shower eventually, but sees that Madge is here and goes into our room to paint after kissing me gently on the mouth and belly.

The movie is some shallow Capitol nonsense, but it's a welcome distraction from everything that's going on in Panem. Neither of us is really invested in the storyline, but we watch anyway. Sometime in the second half, Madge says, "I eavesdropped on you telling Gale about the Games. I'm really sorry."

I laugh out loud, and tell her, smile still on my face, "Don't be. I eavesdropped on you and Gale."

Madge laughs a little, too, and after a minute says, "I didn't know you were so haunted by the Games. I feel like I didn't do enough to help you."

"It helps me that you're my friend," I answer honestly. "And besides, Madge, there isn't much anyone can do to help me. It's like I told Gale. It never really goes away."

"Peeta and Johanna help," she says quietly. She adds quickly, "I don't hold it against you that you're closer with Johanna now, Katniss, I really don't. I know she helps you because you have a common experience. Our friendship was always different. Less intense, probably because it wasn't formed during a traumatic time in our lives. We two need each other. I would never blame you for that."

"I know you wouldn't," I tell her. "I just-I don't know, Madge, I'm sorry for the way Johanna is. I love her, scars and rudeness and all, but I forget sometimes that she's a little hard to swallow."

"It just bothers me that she tells everyone exactly what she's thinking and doesn't seem to care if hurts anyone. And the language. And the undressing in front of Peeta. And the sleeping with Gale," she finishes, and I laugh.

"Listen, Johanna is braver than anyone I've ever met. She's sharp and she has a dead-on sense of intuition. She's loyal. But she's also lost everything to Snow," I explain. "She's used to be so brutally honest because she had nothing to be afraid of from him anymore. And she values people too much to lie to them, just so they feel more comfortable. Her honesty and her rudeness comes from a good place."

"I'm sure it does," says Madge.

"It's just easy to provoke me by insulting Johanna," I say. "But I hope you know that I'm just as loyal to you as I am to her."

"I know," says Madge with a quiet smile. "I suppose Gale became my best friend, too. A long time ago. And it's easier to talk to him because I'm not so worried about upsetting him."

"You don't need to worry about upsetting me," I frown.

"No, I mean, he wasn't in the Games like you. He doesn't have a whole list full of triggers, and you do. I never want to upset you by saying something careless. Besides, the only truly traumatic thing that happened either of us was seeing Twelve burn down. We share that experience," she explains.

"I missed you, Madge," I tell her suddenly.

"Me, too," she says softly. "I'm excited to meet your baby."

"Junior is going to have an enormous family," I sigh, letting my hands fall on my round, hard belly. "Grandpa Haymitch, Johanna, my family, Peeta's, Gale's, you, even my team from the Capitol."

"He's going to be so loved, Katniss," she tells me. "You and Peeta will do a really great job. I know you will."

I tell her something I've never said out loud. "I'm afraid we're too fucked-up, as Johanna puts it, to raise a child. How can we raise a child with the scars we have?"

"Your scars will make you both better parents," she reassures me.

"How do you know that?" I ask.

"I just do," she explains. "Intuition."


	35. Chapter 34

**The Hunger Games belongs to Suzanne Collins.**

"Absolutely not," says Peeta flatly. His blue eyes are full of anger, and Haymitch's look back steadily.

"It's the only way she's effective," argues Haymitch. "You heard them. Volunteering for Prim, burying Rue in flowers, drugging you so she could get your medicine, reaching out to Chaff on interview night. What do those moments have in common? No one was telling her what to do."

"She's six months pregnant," says Peeta through gritted teeth.

"She's only going to the hospital in Eight," snaps Haymitch. "And we'll be in the air, ready to extract her if anything goes wrong. Peeta, we need her, and we need her to be real. That's what the people respond to. You'll be there. So will Johanna and Gale. No one's going to let anything happen to her."

"Peeta," I interject, touching his shoulder gently. "Haymitch is right."

"How can you say that?" hisses Peeta. His hand goes to my stomach protectively. "You could get hurt. Or the baby."

"You heard Plutarch," I reason. "District Eight is quiet. They've been bombed to rubble. After the bombing this morning, there aren't any military targets left."

"I'm with Katniss," agrees Johanna. She turns to Plutarch with hard eyes. "But you better keep your word. Anything happens, get her out of there." She looks at Peeta steadily. "Peeta, you care about this rebellion. This is the only way we can fight them. You know that."

After a minute or two, he nods, and Plutarch and Coin, who look bored to death, glance over at me undecidedly. The idea of sending a pregnant seventeen year old girl into combat is controversial, but Haymitch has a tight case.

"We can't guarantee her safety," Boggs points out. "She could be a target—"

"I want to go," I break in, shooting a look at Peeta, who was about to interrupt me. "I want to help, and I'm no help to the rebels here. If this is all I can do, I want to do it."

"And if you're killed?" asks Coin. I roll my eyes.

"I won't be," I scoff. "I've lived through too much to die in District 8. But if I am killed, just make sure to get it on camera." The muscle in Peeta's jaw starts jumping, but I put my hand on his leg and squeeze. I lean in and whisper, just to him, "You know me. I won't get myself killed." He nods, but he still looks angry and upset.

Johanna, Peeta, and I are whisked away to the Remake Room, where Portia helps me into my Mockingjay costume. "When's Cinna being released?" I ask her as she slips a thick, flexible, but sturdy band over my head and fits it to cover my round stomach.

"Just another layer of protection," she explains. "Beetee designed it. Anyway, Cinna should be released within a week or so." When my costume is on, Beetee comes in to fasten a gas mask to my belt, the white wire for the earpiece to my collarbone, and finally, to hand me the beautiful black bow he designed for me. It's something else. Regular arrows, incendiary arrows, and explosive arrows. Gale has a bow sort of like mine, except it's heavier and deadlier-looking. Peeta is carrying a heavy, scary-looking gun that he tells me can shoot bullets and an explosive charge. Johanna carries a gun as well, but it's sleek and Beetee tells me it only shoots bullets, because she has a set of axes that he designed for her as well. From what he tells me, Johanna's special axes are his pride and joy. Apparently they have a range of capabilities. Each axe—there are six in the set that she wears in a sling on her back—is black as night and razor sharp, but also has the ability to detonate when Johanna presses a red button on a bracelet that she wears on her wrist. Another button on her wrist returns the axes to her hand after she's thrown them. And on each of the axes, there is an emergency switch that can be flipped. When it's activated, Johanna can slam her axe into the ground and it sends an electromagnetic pulse—or something like that, I didn't pay much attention when Beetee explained it—into the ground that kills anyone that stands in front of it. It poses no risk to anyone behind the axe, like Johanna, but can kill anyone within thirty feet of the front of the tip.

When we were with Beetee in Special Weaponry two weeks ago—before Johanna and I went hunting—Johanna and I trained with guns a little. Neither of us had ever held one, but Beetee told us that if we were to go to the Capitol—if and when we took all of the districts—we'd need to know how to shoot one. I agreed, because after I give birth, Johanna and I will have to catch up fast in training. It was odd for me at first, but soon I could hit the center of the target every time. Johanna wasn't as good as me, but competitive as she is, kept going down to Special Weaponry until she was.

Peeta is flourishing under his military training. He's bigger and stronger, and looks healthier than he ever has. When he walks out of Remake, he smiles at me, and I'm struck by how handsome and strong he is.

"Hi," I say, smiling widely. He kisses me on the nose. "Johanna still getting ready?"

"Yeah," he tells me. "Your belly looks bigger."

"Beetee made me like a two-inch thing bulletproof band that covers my entire stomach."

"It suits you," he says, smiling so that his eyes crinkle at the corner. After a moment though, he adds, "Katniss, I'm nervous."

"I am, too. But you know as well as I do that Haymitch is right. This is the only way that I can help," I explain, lacing my fingers through his. "You and Johanna might be brilliant naturally, but I need something to coax it out of me."

"You're always brilliant to me," he smiles. "Just stay close to me while we're there. I don't want anything to happen to you."

"I was going to stay close to you anyway," I roll my eyes. Johanna finally comes out of Remake at the same time that Plutarch and Haymitch stroll down the hallway towards us. We follow them silently into an elevator that moves up and down, even sideways, until we get to a hovercraft hangar. When I see row after row of different kinds of hovercraft, I feel a twinge of hatred against 13. I don't say anything, but it seems appalling to me that they had all of this and left the rest of the districts defenseless against the Capitol. We mount the stairs to one of the smaller hovercraft, which is packed with my television crew and equipment. I greet my crew, but there's a warning of the upcoming takeoff, so I strap myself in a seat between Peeta and Johanna. Gale sits to Johanna's left.

As soon as we're in the air, I start to worry because I realize that I have no idea what I'm actually facing on this trip to District 8. In fact, I know very little about the state of the war, other than every district is in rebellion except for One and Two. I also don't know about what it would take to win the war. Or what would happen if we did. So I ask Plutarch.

He tries to explain it in simple terms for me. One and Two have always had a favored relationship with the Capitol—so had District Four, but there weren't quite as brainwashed as One and Two—despite their participation in the Games. After the Dark Days and the supposed destruction of District 13, Two became the Capitol's new center of defense, although it's publicly presented at the home of the nation's stone quarries, in the same way that 13 was known for graphite mining. District 2 not only manufactures weaponry, it trains and supplies Peacekeepers.

"You mean . . . some of the Peacekeepers are born in Two?" I ask. "I thought they all came from the Capitol."

Plutarch nods. "Yes, that's what you're supposed to think. Some _do_ come from the Capitol. But its population could never sustain a force that size, and there's the problem of recruiting Capitol-raised citizens for a dull life of deprivation in the districts. A twenty-year commitment in the Peacekeepers, no marriage, no children allowed. Some buy into it for the honor of the thing, others take it as an alternative to punishment. For instance, join the Peacekeepers and your debt is forgiven. Many people in the capitol are swamped in debt, but not all of them are fit for military duty. So District Two is where we turn for additional troops. It's a way for people to escape poverty and a life in the quarries. They're raised with a warrior mindset. You've seen how eager their children are to volunteer to be tributes."

"What about One?"

"Much of the same, except for Peacekeepers don't come from One," he explains. "They're raised with the same type of mindset. Brainwashed."

"But all the other districts are one our side?" I ask.

"Yes. Our goal is to take over the districts one by one, ending with District Two; thus cutting off the supply chain to the Capitol. Then, once it's weakened, we invade the Capitol itself."

"If we win, who would be in charge of the government?" asks Peeta.

"Everyone," Plutarch tells him. "We're going to form a republic where the people of each district and the Capitol can elect their own representatives to be their voice in government. Don't look so suspicious; it's worked before."

No one says anything, because I'm sure we're all thinking the same thing. Our ancestors essentially destroyed the planet. Clearly, they didn't care about what would happen to the people who came after them. But this republic thing sounds better than what we have now.

"And if we lose?" I ask.

"If we lose?" Plutarch looks out at the clouds, and an ironic smile twists his lips. "Then I would expect next year's Hunger Games to be quite unforgettable."

PB

District Eight is like another world.

Plutarch wasn't lying when he said it'd been bombed to rubble. There's debris everywhere, but the sturdier warehouse structures are still standing. There are wounded everywhere, being brought in on stretchers, wheelbarrows, carts, even slung across shoulders. Bleeding, limbless, unconscious.

My stomach turns and I wheel around to face Boggs. "This won't work. I won't be good here."

"You will," he says, placing his hands on my shoulders. "Just let them see you. That will do more for them than any doctor in the world."

A woman directing the incoming patients catches sight of us, does a sort of double take, and then strides over. Her dark brown eyes are puffy with fatigue and she smells of metal and sweat. A bandage around her throat needed changing about three days ago. The strap of the automatic weapon slung across her back digs into her neck and she shifts her shoulder to reposition it. With a jerk of her thumb, she orders the medics into the warehouse.

"This is Commander Paylor of Eight," says Boggs. "Commander, Soldier Katniss Everdeen-Mellark, Soldier Peeta Mellark, and Soldier Johanna Mason."

She looks young to be a commander, maybe early thirties. But there's an authoritative tone to her voice that makes you feel like her appointment wasn't arbitrary. Beside her, in my clean, new outfit, I feel like a recently hatched chick, only just learning how to navigate the world.

"I know who they are," says Paylor sharply.

"They insisted on coming by to see your wounded," says Boggs.

"Well, we've got plenty of those," says Paylor.

"You sure this is a good idea?" asks Gale, frowning at the hospital. "Assembling your wounded like this?"

"I think it's slightly better than leaving them to die," says Paylor.

"That's not what I meant," Gale tells her.

"Well, currently, that's my other option. But if you can come up with a third and get Coin to back it, I'm all ears." Paylor waves me towards the door and when she opens it, I try to ignore the corpses lying side by side in the corridor. "Come in, Mockingjay. And by all means, bring your friends." She finds a slit in an industrial curtain and opens it wide.

My fingers wrap tightly around Peeta's wrist. "Do not leave my side. Not for a second."

"I'm right here."

When we step through the curtain, my senses are assaulted. The first thing I want to do, impulsively, is cover my nose to block out the scent of soiled linen, putrefying flesh, and vomit, all ripening in the heat of the warehouse. Peeta's fingers twine through my own tightly.

"Just let them see you," Peeta breathes. "I'll do the talking."

Sweat starts to run down my back, and I try to breathe through my mouth in attempt to get rid of the smell. Black spots swim across my field of vision, and I think there's a really good chance I could faint. But then I catch sight of Paylor, who's watching me closely, waiting to see what I am made of, and if any of them have been right to think they can count on me.

So, not letting go of Peeta, I move deeper into the warehouse, walking in a narrow strip between two rows of beds.

"Katniss? Peeta? Is that really you?" a voice croaks out from my left, breaking apart from the general din. A hand reaches out for me, and I hang on to it for support. A young woman with an injured leg is looking at me, her face full of joy even though she must be in agony.

"Yeah, it's really us," I say. Peeta crouches down next to her and smiles.

"What are you doing here?" the girl asks.

"We came to see you," says Peeta, taking her other hand.

"But I have to tell my brother!" She struggles to sit up and calls to someone a few beds down. "Eddy! Eddy! Katniss and Peeta are here!"

A boy, probably twelve years old, turns to us. Bandages cover half of his face. The side of his mouth opens as if to utter an exclamation. I go to him, push his damp brown curls back from his forehead. Murmur a greeting. He can't speak, but his one good eye fixes on me with such intensity, like he's trying to memorize every detail of my face.

My name, Peeta's name, even Johanna's name, ripples through the hot air, spreading through the hospital. The sounds of pain and grief begin to recede, replaced with words of anticipation. We begin to move, clasping the hands of those extended to us. Peeta makes his own way through the people, never straying far from me, speaking to the people with smiles and the clasp of his rough hands on their own. Johanna, too, speaks to people. She is surprisingly gentle, and assures the people that we're fighting back, that we're with them. I don't say much, just hellos, how are yous, good to meet yous. Nothing important. But it doesn't matter. Boggs is right. It's the sight of me—of us—alive, that is the inspiration. I belong to these people.

People are truly overjoyed when they learn that the baby is alright. They stretch out eager hands to feel my stomach through the uniform, ask me when it's coming. I tell one woman who asks about the gender, "It's a boy. Haymitch Mason Everdeen-Mellark. Maybe after he's born and you've taken your district, I'll bring him out here to meet you." Her eyes fill with tears and I look over at Peeta, who is shaking the hands of some of Eight's men, no doubt congratulating him on his unborn son. I feel a rush of affection for these people; I had never realized how truly important we were to the people of Panem until now. How much they believed in me, believed in us. How much they rallied around us.

I also begin to understand the lengths to which people have gone to protect Peeta and me. What we mean to the rebels. Our ongoing struggle against the Capitol has not been undertaken along. We've had thousands upon thousands of people from the districts at my side. I was their Mockingjay long before I accepted the role.

PB

"We've got a problem," says Boggs suddenly. We're standing outside of the hospital, and Boggs is clutching his earpiece. "Incoming bombers from the north."

We take off running along the front of the warehouse, heading for the alley that leads to the airstrip. But I don't sense any immediate threat. The sky is an empty, cloudless blue. There's no enemy, no alarm. Then the sirens begin to wail. Without seconds, a low flying V-shaped formation of capitol hoverplanes appears above us, and the bombs begin to fall. I'm blown off my feet, into the front wall of the warehouse. There's a searing pain, just above the back of my right knee. Something has struck my back as well, but doesn't seem to have penetrated my vest. My hand flies to my stomach, but Haymitch Junior's feet rap against it, like he's reassuring me that he's alright. I try to get up, but Peeta's pushing me back down, shielding my body with his own. The ground ripples under me as bomb after bomb drops from the planes and detonates. I look to my left. Gale has Johanna backed against the wall, arms spread out, swearing so loud I can hear him over the bombs. He's protecting her.

It's a horrifying sensation being pinned against the wall as the bombs rain down. What was that expression my father used for easy kills? _Like shooting fish in a barrel. _We are the fish, the street the barrel.

Haymitch and Plutarch tell us that we can't be spotted, that the raid was already scheduled. They also tell us that there's no way they can extract us during the bombing, so we'll have to make our way to a bunker in a warehouse that's three down from us.

When we're almost there, another round of bombs start to fall, and Peeta pushes me down, hard, and throws himself over me.

That's when we realize—both at the same time, I can tell from the look in Peeta's eyes—that they aren't targeting us. They're targeting the hospital. Johanna must realize, too, because she's on her feet, trying to get out from behind Gale, screaming every foul word she knows. When she finally breaks free, she doesn't run towards the hospital. She runs towards the machine gun fire coming from the roof of the dirt brown warehouse across the alley. "Katniss, don't you even think about—" Haymitch's voice cuts out as I yank my earpiece free and push Peeta out of the way so I can follow Johanna. I hear him and Gale swearing behind me, but I'm too fast for either of them. Soon enough, I'm right behind Johanna and I'm yelling "Climb! Climb!" and we clamber up an access ladder.

When we make the roof, we drag ourselves onto the tar. I look behind me and see Peeta climbing behind me, so I pull him onto the roof after me. Gale eventually get up behind him and I know that we are going to pay dearly for our actions later. Peeta probably won't speak to me for a week, and Coin will rip our heads off. But in this moment, I really couldn't care less.

"Boggs know you're up here?" To my left, I see Paylor behind one of the guns, looking at us quizzically.

I try to be evasive without flat-out lying. "He knows where we are, all right."

Paylor laughs, "I bet he does. You been trained in these?" She slaps the stock of her gun.

"We have, in Thirteen," I say. "But I'd rather use my own weapon."

"All right," says Paylor. "We expect at least three more waves. Stay low!"

I string one of my explosive arrows—I don't think the fire will do anything—Johanna pulls out one of her axes, free hand hovering to press the red button on her wrist, Gale aims his bow, and Peeta stares down the sight of his huge gun and flips a switch.

"Geese!" I yell at Gale, just as they appear in the sky, two blocks down, a hundred yards above us. He'll know what I mean. During migration season, when we hunt fowl, we've developed a system of dividing the birds so we both don't target the same ones. I take the far side of the V, Gale takes the near, and we alternate shots at the front.

Johanna lets one of her axes fly first. After a lifetime of throwing heavier axes around, she finds her mark easily. As soon as it's stuck in the wing, she presses down the red button and it explodes, sending the hoverplane careening into a warehouse. I rip a hole in the wing of one, Gale just misses the point plane, and Peeta manages to bring down one in the back with one of the explosives from his gun.

"Useful, these are," mutters Peeta, referring to the weapons Beetee made for us.

"Positions!" shouts Paylor. The next wave is appearing already, and I stand up to get better aim. I rip a hole in the belly of the point plane, and Gale blows the tail off a second. Johanna just misses with her axe, and Peeta blows the last plane out of the sky.

When the next wave appears suddenly, Paylor's gunfire takes a plane down. I miss by inches, Gale blows up the point plane, and Peeta and Johanna each take one. When the air is silent for minutes afterwards, Paylor says, "Alright, that's it."

Johanna presses the second button on her wrist, and three completely undamaged axes come flying back towards us. She catches the first easily and swings it back in her sling, and catches the other two in each hand.

"Did they hit the hospital?" I ask.

"They must have," Paylor says grimly.

When we turn back around to get off the roof, we're surprised to see that Messalla and one of the insects followed us up here to film. I'm impressed with their courage, to say the least.

I scramble down a ladder. When my feet hit the ground, I find a bodyguard, Cressida, and the other insect waiting. I expect resistance, but Cressida just waves me toward the hospital. She's yelling, "I don't care, Plutarch! Just give me five more minutes!" Not one to question a free pass, I take off into the street.

The hospital is completely destroyed. I sink to my knees, and Gale's rants from the woods—which seem like hundreds of years ago, echo in my ears—along with Peeta's. Johanna's. Haymitch's. When I get up and turn my back to the hospital, and Cressida—her manner cool and unrattled—says, "Katniss. President Snow just had them air the bombing live. Then he made an appearance to say that this was his way of sending a message to the rebels. What about you? Would you like to tell the rebels anything?"

"Yes," I whisper. The red blinking light on one of the cameras catches my eye. I know I'm being recorded. "Yes," I say more forcefully. "As you all know, my name is Katniss Everdeen-Mellark, and I'm right here in District Eight, where the capitol has just bombed a hospital full of unarmed men, women, and children. There will be no survivors. I want to tell people that if you think for one second the Capitol will treat us fairly if there's a ceasefire, you're deluding yourselves. Because you know who they are and what they do." My hands go out automatically, as if to indicate the whole horror around me. "_This_ is what they do! And we must fight back!" I move in towards the camera now, carried forward by my rage. "President Snow says he's sending us a message? Well, I have one for him. You can torture us and bomb us and burn our districts to the ground, but do you see that?" I point to the planes burning on the roof of the warehouse across from us. "Fire is catching!" I am shouting now, as if I'm actually speaking to him, and I don't want him to miss a word. "And if we burn, you burn with us!"

PB

When I wake up again, I'm in the gray, sterile hospital of District Thirteen. Peeta's in a chair next to my bed, his head leaned forward on my bed, resting on my leg. My heart hurts something vicious. Johanna is nowhere in sight.

"Peeta," I say roughly. I touch his hair gently. "Peeta, wake up."

His head jerks up violently, and his eyes are wild for a moment before he remembers where he is. Then he gets up and takes my face in his hands and kisses me roughly. "You're an idiot," he whispers between kisses, sounding close to tears. "You're so stupid, Katniss, so stupid."

"I'm sorry," I say, letting him kiss me over and over again. "I'm sorry."

"You could've," he kisses me again, barely able to speak, "been killed, Katniss." He kisses me again.

"I'm sorry," I whisper again. "I couldn't just let them get away with it. I wanted to show them that I'm more than just a piece in their Games."

He kisses me roughly one more time before backing up. He sits on the edge of the bed, my face still in his hands. He laughs, but his eyes are still full of tears. "The doctor said that your concussion from the Games hadn't healed fully, and the explosions in Eight just made it come back, worse this time. You'll be in the hospital for a while."

"The baby's okay?" I ask, crossing my fingers.

"Baby's fine," he says, his hand moving to touch my stomach reverently. "You threw up all over me while I was carrying you to the hovercraft."

"Sorry," I whisper. He looks fine, so deliciously unharmed, that the sight of him is like a feast for the starving. "What else happened to me? I remember my leg hurting."

"They pulled a piece of shrapnel from your knee," he says. "Nothing else. Johanna's in the hospital, too. Concussion is even worse than yours and she had a couple of pieces of shrapnel in her arms."

"And you?" I ask. "You were standing in front of me."

"My minor concussion from the Games had healed, so I'm fine in that department. I had five or is pieces of shrapnel stuck in my body, but it wasn't anything too bad. Gale, too."

"How long have I been out?" I ask. He looks at his watch.

"Fifteen hours," says Peeta. He pulls a tray from a side table and sets it front of me. "There's a meeting in Command soon, but I don't think Coin is expecting either you or Johanna. I'll tell you everything that happens."

"Alright," I say, and honestly, I'm thankful. My head hurts something awful, and my stomach feels rocky. I'm not in the mood to deal with a room full of people. "Can you arrange for Johanna to be moved in here?"

"Yeah, I'll talk to someone," he tells me, smiling gently. Someone raps on the door and Peeta says, "Oh, I bet that's your mom." He stands up and slides the door open. She gives him a hug, and Peeta moves to leave the room but I glare at him until he returns to my side. Slowly, I eat the meal Peeta put in front of me.

My mother comes and checks my vital signs, then presses a kiss onto my forehead. "How do you feel?"

"Beat up," I admit.

"No one even told us you were going until you were gone," she says. She looks over at Peeta, and adds, "We've been worried sick about you two."

I feel a pang of guilt. When your family's had to send you off twice to the Hunger Games, this isn't the kind of detail you should overlook. "I'm sorry, Mom. They weren't expecting the attack. We were just supposed to be visiting the patients," I explain.

"I'm sorry, Paula," says Peeta quietly. "Next time, we'll have them clear it with you." My mother sits on the edge of the bed and touches his hand gently.

"You don't have to clear it with me," she tells us. "You're adults. You're married. I just want to know, so I don't have to spend hours panicking."

"Okay," I say. "I'll have someone notify you next time."

"Good," my mother nods. "Your family know you're alright?" she asks Peeta.

"Yes, I spoke to them last night," he tells her.

"Well, I'm just glad you're okay," she says. "Prim is working. I expect she'll be by during lunch."

"Alright," I tell my mom.

She leaves, and Peeta and I are alone. We're quiet; he fiddles with my hair while I eat, and when I push my tray away from me, he comes to sit next to me. We kiss and talk and kiss some more until he's called away to Command.

Peeta was true to his word; he must've spoken to someone, because fifteen minutes later, they're wheeling Johanna's bed into my room. She looks terrible, pale and clammy, with stitches on her arms and cuts on her face. I wonder if I look as bad.

But she grins at me and says, "It seems Peeta's good for something."

"Shut up," I tell her. "Wheel her right next to my bed, please," I tell the nurse. He nods, wheels her so close to my bed that they're touching, and moves her IVs to the far side of her bed.

When the nurse closes the door, Johanna looks at me and says, "You look awful."

I grin at her and say, "You've looked better, too." I push the plastic guard on the side of my bed down and scoot closer to. "I feel like shit."

"Yeah, it feels like someone is hammering the inside of my skull," says Johanna, pushing her guard down, too, and moves so that are shoulders are touching. "As soon as he heard I was awake, Peeta came and yelled at me."

I frown. "Why?"

Johanna rolls her eyes and says, "Why do you think, brainless? Because I ran for that roof. He said that I should've known that you'd follow me."

"You did know I'd follow you," I say.

"Yeah, I guess," she says, biting her fingernails viciously. "I didn't want you or the kid to get hurt, but I just wanted to _do_ something. I figured you did, too."

"Yeah," I agree. After a few minutes of silence, I ask Johanna the question that's been bothering me since I realized the bombers were targeting the hospital, "Why would they do that? Why would they target people who were already dying?"

Johanna doesn't hesitate. "He did it to scare other off. Prevent the wounded from getting help," she says angrily. "Those people were expendable to Snow. If the Capitol wins, he has no use for a bunch of wounded slaves."

"Our lives will never matter to him," I say, my voice hushed.

"They never have," snaps Johanna.

"I'm going to kill him," I tell her. "After the baby is born and we invade the Capitol. That's all I want to do, Johanna. Watch the light leave his eyes."

Johanna laughs, and touches my hand gently. "I'll hold his hands behind his back while you do it."

"What are you going to do after the war? If we win, I mean," I ask. I've never really let myself think of the future after the war, and it unnerves me a little that I don't know what Johanna will do or where she'll go.

She sighs. "I don't know," she admits. "I don't want to go back to Seven. I don't have anyone there. Just the ghosts of everyone I loved." She's quiet for a minute and asks, "What about you and lover boy?"

"I suppose we'll go back to Twelve," I answer. "Live in our old house. Raise Junior the best we can. Try to forget. There's nowhere else in Panem I really want to go. Just home. You can come; live in one of the empty houses next to us. Or with Haymitch," I joke.

"I guess I could," she muses. "I feel like the only home I have left is with you guys."

"After all of this, I think it would feel wrong not seeing you every day," I say. "I miss Finnick."

Johanna's eyes drop to her lap. "So do I," she whispers. "It kills me not knowing what they're doing to him."

"Hopefully they'll keep him alive so they can use him," I say. I hate the way it sounds, but it's the only hope we have left for Finnick. Maybe the women in the Capitol still love him too much to see him get killed. I tell her that.

She snorts. "I don't think they'd care if Finnick blew up the president's mansion," she chuckles. "They'd still love him. No, I don't think Snow will kill him yet. Just torture him so he'll say the right things on television. Hopefully they'll keep him alive long enough for us to rescue him."

"We're still in the game," I whisper to her. Her eyes cloud over, and she takes my hand.

"We're still fighting."

PB

As it turns out, Finnick _is_ alive. There's a short interview a couple of days later, which Johanna and I watch in the hospital. He looks a little worse than the last one, but it isn't too drastic. He just looks pale, tired, and shaky. Chaff is next to him, looking beaten down.

All they do in the interview is detail the 'savage' and 'inhumane' attacks by the rebels, and ask the people in the districts to lay down their weapons. I breathe a sigh of relief, because at least they're doing and saying the right things now. It won't make much difference in Chaff's district, because the day before, the rebels took Eleven.

Peeta comes storming in a few minutes after the broadcast is over and says, "Did you see it? Did you see the broadcast?"

"Yes," I say, grinning so much I feel like a fool. "They're alive. And they're trying to stay alive."

"Coin says if they can hang on for a few more weeks, we could probably rescue them," says Peeta.

"Finnick's been hanging on for ten years," says Johanna fiercely, a smile on her face. "He can handle a few more weeks."

Peeta frowns a little bit, and I ask him what's wrong. "I feel bad for Annie Cresta," he says. "She's still in the hospital, because no one thinks she's stable enough to be released. She has no one here."

"Did you go see her?" I ask, and something mean colors my voice. I think it might be jealousy. I can't really help it, because Annie _is_ heartbreakingly beautiful. And even though she's insane, she's still strong enough to kill someone with her bare hands if she wanted to, and still look gorgeous while she's doing it.

"Yeah, why?" he answers, surprised.

"No reason," I snap. "I didn't know you were visiting her. Must've been while I was unconscious. I bet she didn't threaten to kill _you._ You have blue eyes just like her dead boyfriend."

"Katniss," says Peeta sharply. "That really isn't fair, I was just—"

"I didn't know it was appropriate for married men to go see other women while their wife was sleeping," I say scathingly. I don't really care if I'm being unfair. I'm in the hospital with a concussion and I'm more than six months pregnant. Meanwhile, Peeta is sneaking off to visit Annie Cresta while I'm bedridden. "Guess I do now, though."

Peeta looks at me disbelieving me, opens his mouth to say something, then closes it again. After a few rounds of this, he just gets up and walks out of the room.

"Was it something I said?" I say flatly to no one in particular.

"You know how to clear a room," laughs Johanna. "When are you going to realize that he's so in love with you he can't even see other women?"

"You really think he can't see Annie Cresta?" I ask her, eyebrows raised. "She's about the only person on the planet as attractive as Finnick."

"True," muses Johanna. "Well, I guess he's a lost cause then. You'll give birth and we'll have to raise Haymitch on our own."

I laugh, even though it's a little brittle. I've never thought of myself as particularly beautiful, not in the way that Annie is. I'm good-looking, but not so beautiful that people would sponsor me in the Games just because of how I look. Annie and Finnick _are_ that beautiful. I think it's only natural that I feel insecure about Peeta going to see her. And I won't lie; it stings that he didn't even try convincing me otherwise. He just left. Peeta doesn't leave when he's upset, I do.

"Why do I feel so hurt?" I ask Johanna, tears stinging the back of my eyes.

"You're pregnant and hormonal," she answers, like it's the most obvious thing in the world. "You probably feel unattractive and insecure."

"I guess so," I agree. "And Annie's so . . ."

"Yeah," Johanna finishes for me. "It doesn't help with Annie looks the way that she does."

PB

Prim visits us over lunch, and Gale stops in, too. He doesn't stay long, just long enough to make sure we're feeling alright. I want to ask him how things with Madge are going, but I'm sure if he wanted to talk about it with me, he would. I haven't seen Peeta since this morning, and I'm starting to worry about it. Maybe I shouldn't have snapped the way I did. Still, I can't say that I'm sorry.

My worries are erased when Prim brings in a wheelchair towards the end of her lunch. "Johanna, we're going to go for a walk," says Prim.

"What about me?" I ask indignantly.

"You're staying here," says Prim. "I was supposed to get rid of Johanna for an hour. Sorry." She smiles at me and kisses me on the forehead before wheeling Johanna out. Peeta doesn't even wait for Prim to close the door, he just comes in and slams the door. I wince.

"You need to stop," says Peeta, throwing himself into the chair by my bed.

"You do," I counter.

"No, Katniss, I mean you need to stop getting jealous. Annie holds absolutely no appeal for me, and you should know that."

"Right," I scoff. "She's only the most beautiful woman either of us has ever seen. No appeal. Right."

"Jesus, Katniss, you don't need to be so sarcastic," storms Peeta. "I only went to see Annie a couple of times, and I only did that because I feel _bad_ for her."

"You heard the way she talked to you in that hallway," I spit out. I mimic her low, rough voice, "'You have blue eyes. I knew a boy with blue eyes like yours.' You remind her of her dead boyfriend, do you expect me to be comfortable with that?"

"Katniss, you know that isn't fair," he says in a low voice. "Annie has issues, okay? Yeah, she watched her boyfriend with blue eyes be decapitated in front of her five years ago. That's probably number one on the list. But she's also totally alone. Finnick always helped her with her episodes, and now he isn't here. I was just trying to do the right thing."

"Do the right thing with someone that doesn't look like her," I shoot back at him.

"When are you going to understand that you are the only woman I'm ever going to see?" he asks, frustrated.

"When you don't leave your hospitalized, pregnant wife while she's sleeping to go see someone else," I say stubbornly. "How would you feel if I snuck out while you were sleeping to go see Gale or something?"

"That's a low blow," argues Peeta. "Annie isn't in love with me. Gale's in love with you. It's different. And don't try to hurt me with Gale."

"Annie's probably projecting her feelings for her dead boyfriend onto you."

"Annie is in love with Finnick," says Peeta, throwing his hands up in the air. "And I'm in love with you. I don't even see her, Katniss! Whenever I look at any woman, all I see is you!"

I ignore him and say, "What if I acted crazy like her? Would that get you all worked up?" I'm being petty and mean, but I don't really care right now. I'm jealous and upset and I don't want to be nice to him.

"Katniss, you know that's crossing a line," says Peeta. "When did you turn into Johanna?"

"When you started sneaking out to see another girl," I spit back at him.

"I don't care about her!" he yells, finally losing his patience. He gets up from the chair and starts pacing around the room. "I spent _eleven years_ watching you, hoping that you'd talk to me, Katniss! I could never get over you, never. Even after you broke my heart after the Games, I still couldn't get over you. And believe me, I tried!" He stops short and pales a little bit, like he said something that he shouldn't have. I pounce on him.

"Wait, what does _that_ mean? You tried?" I ask venomously. I don't raise my voice. Instead, it's low and mean. "What'd you do, Peeta? Throw yourself at other girls? Sleep with them? Tell me."

"No, I didn't sleep with anyone," he says, his voice hard. He points his finger accusingly at me and says, "_You_ didn't want _me_. You didn't."

I laugh derisively and say, "Oh, so you think all those months without you were _easy_ for me, is that what you think? Fuck you, Peeta, I missed you every single day and now, it seems you were . . . slutting around, trying to find someone that would help get rid of me!"

"You really have turned into Johanna," he remarks, referring to my foul language. "I hung out with one person. Once. Nothing happened, because when I looked at her, it wasn't her face that I saw, Katniss. It was yours."

"I don't care," I spit. "I could've run to Gale, but I didn't. Because I missed you and wanted you and loved _you_. You tell me that you love me so much and you've loved me for so long, but in reality, you ran to someone else the first chance you got!"

"Because you. Weren't. There." He separates each word, his voice stony and cold, just as mean as me now.

"You weren't there either, Peeta," I tell him, crossing my arms. "At least what I felt for you wasn't so feeble that I tried to lose you in someone else."

"Sometimes you are so hard to love," he practically shouts. I look at him, and tears creep into my eyes. I never thought I'd hear Peeta say that to me. It isn't that I don't know I'm a difficult person, because I do. But of all things in my life, loving Peeta and being with him is the easiest. His words leave a dull ache in my chest, and I'm wondering how something so small turned into something so big. I don't even bother trying to hide the tears that drop onto my face. When Peeta finally looks at me, his face falls.

"Katniss," he says, reaching out for me. I move away from him. "Katniss, I didn't mean that."

"Yeah, you did," I say. "It's fine, really. I think I always knew you'd say that. Sooner or later."

"Katniss," he kneels by my bed now, his demeanor completely changed. "You aren't hard to love, I swear I didn't mean that, I really didn't—"

"Yes, you did," I say harshly. "Go away."

It isn't until twenty minutes later that I hear the door slam, that I hear quiet voices outside, that Johanna pulls me into the wire cage of her arms, that I let myself cry because Peeta has finally seen me for who I am. Someone that's hard to love.

PB

Johanna and I are released two days later. I don't really want to go home, not at all. Peeta and I haven't spoken since our argument. Every time I think about his words, I start to hurt again. _You are so hard to love._ Yeah, I know. I'm too hard to love. The only people that can love me are the dark, closed off people like me. Like Johanna. Like Gale.

Dr. Borley saves me and Johanna from getting a schedule for a week, citing our susceptibility to further head injury. So we go home, and I don't go into Peeta's and my room. I walk straight into Johanna's, not even bothering to look if he's here. Johanna gets us both a cup of coffee and plops mine on her side table. She doesn't say anything, just sits down next to me on the bed.

"Am I hard to love?" I ask her suddenly.

She rolls her eyes at me. "No. You're not. Stop worry about what that idiot said."

"It really hurt," I admit. "Because loving him is so easy. It makes me think he has to try to love me every day."

"He said that because he was angry, brainless," says Johanna. "If you were hard to love, he wouldn't be here."

"He isn't," I protest. "I haven't seen him for two days."

"Don't be stupid," scowls Johanna. "He's asked how you were about twelve times in the last two days."

"What did you tell him?"

"That he was stupid and you were upset," she answers. "That's all."

We don't say anything after that. We drink our coffee and lounge around, lost in our own thoughts. When lunch time rolls around, Johanna makes some excuse to the kitchen about our health, and our lunch is brought to the compartment. She does the same for dinner. We don't see Peeta, and he doesn't see us.

PB

I'm standing in the hospital of Thirteen, but I don't know why. What drove me here? I try to rack my brains, but I can't remember. My concussion must still be bad. So I wander until I find myself in front of a hospital room with a whiteboard next to the door that reads 'Annie Cresta.' I sigh. Slide the door open.

Annie isn't alone. Peeta is sitting on the edge of her bed, laughing at something she said. I tense up, because I don't want to see this. He brushes a long clump of wiry, rough hair out of her eyes, and I can feel something splinter off inside of me.

Haymitch kicks my womb in protest. Like he's just as outraged that Peeta is doing this as I am. It's his little foot, kicking indignantly, that spurs me forward. "You," is all I say. I'm not looking at Peeta. I'm looking at Annie. Her head jerks up, like she didn't know I was in the room until now. Her cheeks color, but Peeta's don't. He looks at me steadily.

"You're supposed to be in love with Finnick," I say. "He's away, being tortured, in the Capitol. You have some nerve."'

"Katniss, I'm sorry," she says. "It's just nice having someone here."

"Someone that's married," I retort. I still don't look at him. "Someone that's going to be a father."

"I'm sorry," she says again, pleading look in her eyes. Like she's begging me to understand. Like there's something more to it, but I just can't remember what it is.

"And you," I say, turning to Peeta. "You said you loved me. Your child is inside of me."

"Katniss, you don't understand," protests Peeta. "You really don't."

"Then enlighten me," I challenge.

"Annie's going to be a mother, too," he says, looking down at her proudly. _Wait, what?_ I look from Peeta to Annie, Annie to Peeta in panic. Then I see it. The reverent, proud look in his eyes as he looks down at her. _No, this can't be real._ _This can't be real._ "That's right. Annie and I are having a baby."

I'm crying so hard I don't even remember where I am. I don't go anywhere. I just curl up on the floor and cry so hard I can't feel my body. Sobs rack my chest and I can't breathe, can't breathe, can't breathe, and I know I've been lying here crying for hours, but I can't move. I can't do anything. Someone is shaking me, and I think that Peeta's trying finish me off, to kill me and the baby so he can have a life with Annie and the child he wants.

"Katniss!" he says, but I know he's just taunting me, he's about to strangle me so me and Haymitch can die. "Katniss? Katniss! Johanna, help me out here!"

Johanna? Johanna's here? Is Johanna trying to get rid of me, too? She probably wants Peeta to be happy with someone who is easy to love. Someone who can give him a stronger, more beautiful child. I don't blame her, really.

I feel someone strong crawl on top of me, pinning my arms and legs down. _This is it,_ I think to myself. _This is where I die._ But in all honesty, I'd rather die than see Annie have Peeta's child. I'd rather die than see him love someone else. So I welcome it.

But the hands on my face don't belong to Peeta. They're thin and oddly strong, like they're made of steel. Johanna. "Johanna, you don't understand, he's in love with her, he's in love with her, he wants to kill me because she's having his baby, you don't understand. Don't kill me," I sob.

"Katniss, I'm not trying to kill you," she says, and her voice is oddly soothing. Not at all what I expect from Johanna. "Peeta's right here, and so am I. Open your eyes. Neither of us is trying to kill you."

Her fingers dig into my cheek, and I crack my eyes open. I didn't even realize they were shut. I'm expecting to be in Annie Cresta's brightly lit hospital room, but I'm in the dim light of Johanna's bedroom. Peeta is hovering over me, looking like his heart is going to shatter. Johanna is on top of me, pinning my arms above my head with one arm, and using her other hand to grip my face. "See? No one here but the two of us."

"Why do you have me restrained?" I ask.

"Because you punched Peeta in the face when he tried to wake you up," she says. I look at him emotionlessly. I don't apologize. The look of pride on his face when he looked down at Annie is seared into my memory.

"Katniss," he says softly. He still has that look on his face, like he's made of glass and he's about to break into pieces on the floor. I look back at him, not really caring what emotions show on my face. _Annie and I are having a baby._ "Please talk to me."

I look at Johanna then. For the last few nights, I've been staying in her room, avoiding Peeta. I'm now nearly twenty-six weeks pregnant, and even though she's been understanding and kind and Johanna, I know she wants me to fix things with him. If for no other reason that she doesn't want to share her bed with a fat, pregnant woman anymore.

I look back at Peeta and nod emotionlessly. I try to stand up, but he sweeps me into his arms before I can get my feet on the ground. In seconds, I'm sitting on the edge of our bed, and he's kneeling in front of me.

"Katniss, I-" he starts. His eyes are clouded over and I know he's going to cry. Which isn't fair, because I should be crying. "I never want you to think that it would ever, in a million years, be possible for me to love anyone but you. You're the reason I can wake up every day and put myself through miserable hours of training. So you and I and Haymitch can have a life free from the Capitol and free from suffering. You. You're what I live for, Katniss, and you're the only thing I'd die for." There are real tears on his face now, and he makes no effort to wipe them away. "And you're the easiest thing in the world to love, baby, you're so easy to love. You're the bravest person I've ever met and you're so strong and you have the will to move mountains and you've got this fire in your heart that I've never seen in anyone else and those are only four reasons out of thousands I have to love you. It's never been a choice, Katniss," he says, taking my hands and leaning his forehead on them. "Loving you was never a choice. Every day, I wake up and see your face and it reminds me that you're the reason I can keep breathing. Every day, I fall in love with you more and more and yours is the only face I _really_ see, Katniss. Your face is the only one I'll ever be able to see."

"You'll never love anyone else?" I ask, my voice so small and weak it doesn't even sound like my voice.

"This," he pulls my hand to his chest. I can feel the steady beat of his heart under my fingers. "This has only ever belonged to you." I look at him, and feel something hot and desperate rise up into my chest. But I don't say anything or do anything, I just look at him.

"Haymitch told me once that I could live a hundred lifetimes and never deserve you," I breathe. "Maybe that's why it's so easy for me to convince myself that you don't really love me. Because I've never felt good enough."

"Haymitch is an old, nasty drunk," says Peeta, his eyes still locked onto mine. "And I love you," he leans his forehead up against mine. My hand is still on his chest. "I love you so much, so much, sweetheart, that I can't find any words to tell you how much. So much my heart seizes up in my chest whenever I see you. So much that whenever you're in pain it feels like the world is ending. So much that my blood ran cold when I heard you crying in there. So much it felt like my heart was going to break in there when you were saying that I was in love with Annie and she was having my child. I felt like I was going to break into a thousand pieces, because I could never, ever love anyone but you. I don't want a child with anyone but you."

"Are you sure?" I whisper.

"More sure than I've ever been in my entire life," he breathes, and his breath tickles my face.

"Okay," I murmur.

"Okay," he mumbles back, and his lips finally find mine.


	36. Chapter 35

**Hey guys! Sorry, it's a kind of short, boring chapter, but it's also necessary before the more exciting stuff happens. Leave me some reviews if you have comments or suggestions. I don't own the Hunger Games.**

It has been a month since Finnick's last propo, and I am not allowed to leave the district for propos anymore. I'm thirty weeks pregnant, and Dr. Borley claims that it's just not 'safe' for me to be exposed like that. Johanna _is_ training-though Peeta has already finished his training-despite her objections. I told her that it's just pointless for her to be cooped up with me all day when she could be doing something useful. So I spent a lot of time with Cinna during my boring and empty days. If only Finnick were here, this place might actually not be so bad.

Plutarch has recruited Madge to appear in his propos, mostly because she's a 'young, attractive face from the districts.' She didn't say much when we went back to Twelve a week ago to film another propo, just stood next to Gale and tried not to look at the ruins of the house where her father died. She stops by to see me every other day, and she seems happier. I don't know if it's because she's starting to move on from her father's death, or if it's because more involved in the war effort, or if it's because of Gale. I don't know if they're together, but when I see her, Gale is almost always attached to her hip.

We've taken three districts: Three, Eight, and Eleven. As far as I know, we're close to taking more. Peeta's filmed a wonderfully crafted propo that's targeted for Districts 1 and 2, and just a few days after it aired, an uprising started in District 1. District 2 has a small insurgence, but it is still largely controlled by Peacekeepers.

Today, I'm sprawled out on the couch while Peeta spends the day in Command. Johanna and Madge are training. Prim and my mother are working. It seems that I'm the only person who isn't needed. I understand that Coin doesn't want to take a risk on sending me to the districts, but really, it's frustrating to be cooped up here while everyone but me contributes to the effort. I'm supposed to be the Mockingjay.

Thankfully, not long after I've slipped into my resentful reverie, Peeta slides the door open. "Hi, sweetheart," he says, looking distracted. He kneels down and kisses me on the lips, then settles onto the edge of the sofa. "They're going to air our propo from Twelve. Beetee thinks he can broadcast it in the Capitol."

"Alright," I murmur, more concerned with how handsome he is than what he's saying. I reach up and brush the curls off his forehead. "When's Johanna coming home?"

"She's waiting for you in Command," he tells me, leaning down to drop a long kiss on my mouth. "Coin wants you there."

"Why?" I ask irritably. "She already decided I'm too pregnant to be useful." Peeta's hand settle on my stomach, which is truly enormous now. I'm still as thin—in the rest of my body—as I was before I got pregnant, which only makes my stomach look bigger by comparison. And to think I still have two months left before I'm due to give birth. It looks like Haymitch Jr. could come out any minute.

"She mentioned something about another propo," murmurs Peeta. He leans down to kiss my belly. "Just an interview session with Cressida. I can come, if you want."

"Alright," I say. I lift my arms up so he can help me stand up. He hauls me to my feet, and puts a steady arm around me. I used to be nimble and agile, graceful even. I can still hunt—sort of—but I'm not nearly as quick on my feet as I used to be. I try not to be resentful about it, but it's hard. My body is foreign to me now.

Peeta seems to be following the direction my thoughts have taken, because he backs up a few steps and says, "You're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen."

"You are," I say, and he pulls me out of the compartment.

PB

The propo is spectacular, I have to admit. But that doesn't wipe away the resentment I feel for President Coin and her uniform gray hair. I have to actively try not to narrow my eyes at her the entire time we're in Command.

"Well done, Katniss," she tells me, and it takes all of my effort to force a smile at her. "You've proven yourself very useful for the rebellion."

"Thanks," I say. "When can I start filming again?"

"Well, I'm sure we can film a propo when Haymitch Junior is born," she says, frowning down at her notes. "And we're sending Peeta and Johanna to District 2 in about a week."

"I want to go," I say immediately.

"No," says Coin flatly. "You're too far along in your pregnancy. Two is more dangerous than any other district right now."

"I'll stay somewhere safe," I protest. "I won't get any more involved than I need to be."

"Katniss, they're going for a couple of weeks," sighs Plutarch. "We're close to taking District 1, but District 2 is more difficult. We need them for as long as they can be spared."

I turn to glare at Peeta, but he seems as surprised about this as I am. Johanna has her eyes narrowed at Plutarch. Madge and Gale are both looking down at their hands.

"This isn't fair," I say. "I've only filmed a few propos. I feel useless."

"Mrs. Everdeen-Mellark, with all due respect, do you think you'll be doing anyone any favors in the field?" asks Coin, her voice firm and gentle at the same time. She gestures towards my stomach. "You'll only put yourself and your child at risk."

"I can speak to the rebels. Try and convince them to surrender," I suggest.

"Plutarch and I will discuss it," she says, obviously trying to placate me. "But even if we do approve you to go to District 2, it will only be when the majority of the District is in rebel hands. The risk is too great otherwise."

I am about to start arguing when one of the screens on the wall switches on. The Capitol seal is there, just for a few seconds, before it's replaced with the face of Caesar Flickerman.

"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen of Panem. I'm Caesar Flickerman and tonight, we have a special guest. Finnick, how do you feel tonight?"

The camera pans from Caesar's face, and when it lands on Finnick, my hands go to my mouth. Finnick looks pale and clammy, and the makeup barely hides the bruises under his eyes. Beads of sweat break free on his forehead and upper lip. He looks awful.

"About as well as I look," says Finnick, trying to smile. I lean my head forward into my hands and I groan.

"Finnick, let's get right down to it. Tonight, a message from Katniss Everdeen-Mellark was broadcast right here in the Capitol."

"Yes," says Finnick. "She was in Eight, with Johanna and Peeta."

"I think it seems pretty clear that the rebels are using your friends," speculates Caesar. "What do you think, Finnick?"

Finnick laughs bitterly, like he's desperate to say what he really thinks. But instead he says, "Yeah, Caesar, I think the rebels are using them. I mean, look at Peeta in this footage. He's shooting hoverplanes out of the sky. Peeta was never one to use force against another human being, unless it was the last option he had." On a smaller screen behind them, footage from the propo appears, and there Peeta is in all of his glory, strong and beautiful, shooting explosives from his massive gun.

"How do you think he's being manipulated?" asks Caesar.

"I don't know," says Finnick. "Obviously, they can't use Katniss against him, because she's there. But in any case, I don't think Peeta—or Katniss or Johanna—really knows who they are. What they want for the country."

"Do you think the rebels are threatening them in order to make them perform?"

"Possibly," says Finnick, looking into the camera. His eyes are saying everything that his words aren't. Don't stop fighting. "I doubt any of them know what's really at stake."

"And what's that, Finnick? What's at stake?" asks Caesar, leaning forward.

"Extinction," intones Finnick. He looks into the camera determinedly. "Think about the consequences of this war, Katniss. Peeta. Johanna. This war could wipe us off the face of the Earth. And your friends in Thirteen? How can you trust them? They've spent seventy-five years pretending they didn't exist, only to intervene when it was convenient for them. No one is safe," says Finnick. He starts sweating and looks nervously out of the corner of his eye. "Not me or Chaff, here in the Capitol. Not anyone in the Districts. And you, in District 13 . . ." he pauses, still sweating, as if he's wondering whether he should continue. Taking a deep breath, he finishes, "They're coming, Johanna! In District 13, you'll be dead by morning!"

I hear Snow's voice say, "End it." Then, right before the broadcast cuts off, there's something swinging at Finnick, and his blood spatters all over the tiles behind him.

It's silent in Command for a moment, before Johanna gets up and starts swearing at the television, and I have to wrap my fingers around her wrists so she doesn't start throwing things. She calms down, only long enough to spit at Coin, "That was a warning."

"Yes, it was," agrees Haymitch. Everyone gets up and starts arguing. Eventually, Haymitch raises his voice to speak over all the voices mixing together. "Didn't you see that? They're torturing him right now!"

"He's in Snow's mansion, he could've overheard something," agrees Plutarch. Everyone starts arguing again, but Haymitch yells over the din.

"Madame President, you don't know him. We do. That was a warning."

Eventually, Coin agrees to send the district into lockdown—all while me, Johanna, and Peeta are panicking about Finnick's blood on the tiles—and within seconds, there's a loud, ear-splitting alarm. Peeta grasps my upper arm and practically pulls me out of Command. In any other place, an alarm like this would send the populace into panic. Not Thirteen. All of the citizens we see are calmly heading for a flight of stairs. I want to scream at them to run, to hurry up, before we're all buried alive in this coffin.

"Come on, baby, hurry up," says Peeta. His arm is around me, and I can tell it's taking all of his self-control not to pick me up and run me down the stairs. Johanna is behind us, keeping up a continuous stream of swear words.

"You'd think these stupid fuckers would go a little faster," snaps Johanna. A woman from Thirteen turns around and glares at her. Johanna hisses at her.

"Katniss, Katniss, listen," says Peeta. "You need to get down there as fast as you can, okay?"

"Where are you going?" I shout.

"I need to go make sure our families are alright," yells Peeta over the alarm.

"They must've heard the alarm!" I say. "They're coming, I'm sure they're coming! Don't leave me!"

I think Peeta sighs—it's too loud for me to hear it—and wraps his arm tighter around me. "God, I just want you to be safe down there already," he snaps, sounding almost like Johanna. The crowd seems to thin out a little bit in front of us, so we must be getting close. We're so far underground now that I'm sure we're miles underneath the bedrock. "Oh, thank God," groans Peeta as the doors to the bunker come into sight. Peeta pushes me in front of him as we approach the doors, nearly shoving me into the bunker.

Suddenly, I'm seized with an awful, painful cramping sensation in my abdomen. I clench my teeth and bite back a scream. Peeta's in front of me in a second, taking my face in one of his hands. "Katniss, what's the matter? Katniss?"

I make some weird strangled noise and point to my stomach. "Cramp," I manage to get out, closing my eyes tightly.

"What? Is the baby coming?" I hear Peeta ask frantically. When I don't respond, he swings me into his arms and practically runs, but I don't know where. I just keep my eyes closed and wait for the clenching sensation in my abdomen to go away. Eventually, we come to a stop and I open my eyes hesitantly. We're at a little enclave in the wall under a big 'M' with our compartment number, 1262, above it.

"I'll go get our packs," says Johanna. "And see if Katniss's mom is back so she can look at her."

"Come on, Katniss," says Peeta, who I can tell is trying to keep his voice calm and measured. "I'll lay you down."

The cramp in my abdomen subsides, and I grunt, "No, I can do it. I'm fine." Peeta ignores me and sets me down gently on the lower, bigger bunk in the wall. "It doesn't hurt anymore."

"Katniss, is he coming? It's too early," says Peeta, panic finally registering in his voice.

"No, I don't think so," I tell him, putting a hand on my rock-hard stomach. "Dr. Borley said there might be false alarms. Hey," I say, laying my hand against his cheek. There's still panic in his eyes. "Stop worrying. I'm fine."

Johanna comes back a few minutes later with three backpacks slung over her shoulder and my mother in tow. Johanna throws the packs on the ground impatiently and perches on the side on my enclave. "You alright?" she asks.

"Fine," I say. I look at my mother, who is wringing her hands, looking worried. "What's the matter?"

"Nothing, dear," she replies. "Let's get you over to the med station so I can look at you." Peeta tugs me out of bed and tries to carry me again, but I wave him off. I would be embarrassed if the people of Thirteen saw Peeta carting me around even more. I do, however, let him rub little circles into my shoulders.

Soon enough, my mother has me in a medical gown and propped up in a gurney, and she instructs me to part my legs so she can examine me.

"Mom," I say awkwardly. "Can't someone else do it? This makes me uncomfortable."

"Katniss, I'm your mother," she snaps. Her tone is enough to make me shut up, so I put my feet in the little metal stirrups and because it's semidark down here, shines a flashlight between my legs. She pulls out a little metal instrument and passes the flashlight to Peeta. "No, a little to the left," she instructs him patiently. He complies and I can feel the press of cold metal. When she tosses the metal instrument aside, she takes the flashlight back, stands up, and starts pressing against my stomach. It's wildly uncomfortable and Haymitch begins protesting by banging against the walls of my uterus indignantly.

"What's wrong?" Peeta asks when he sees worry creasing my mother's brow.

"Nothing, I-" she stops short, and presses her lips together before she continues, "Katniss, he's already dropped."

"What does that mean?" asks Peeta.

"It means he's moved into a position more suitable for labor," explains my mother, wringing her hands together. "Which, in turn, means that he is going to arrive sooner than we planned."

"How soon?" demands Peeta. I look nervously from him to my mother, worry rising up in my stomach. I barely notice Johanna grabbing my hand.

"Well, since this is Katniss's first child, it could be a few more weeks," says my mother.

"Isn't that still too early?" I ask, my voice taking on the same panicked tone as Peeta's.

"Not necessarily," explains my mother, her voice calm and steady. "Little Haymitch is measuring big for his age, and will have about the same survival rate as a full-term baby, if he makes it to week 34."

"So Katniss is okay? Haymitch is okay?" asks Peeta.

"Yes," my mother assures. "But I'm keeping you here until Dr. Borley gets down here to look at you. Your face is a little too swollen for my liking."

"Where's Prim?" I ask. "Shouldn't she be here?"

"She was helping with patients," answers my mother. "I'm sure she'll be here soon."

I look at Peeta desperately and he nods at me, taking off for my family's bunks. Johanna squeezes my hand even more tightly, and perches on the side of my bed. My mother looks at me uncertainly and I tell her, "Mom, I'm fine. If you have somewhere else you need to be, you should go."

She grasps my shoulder tightly and kisses me on the forehead before scurrying off. Johanna's hand falls on my belly, and I scoot over on the tiny hospital cot to make room for her. She wedges herself in next to me and asks, "So, have you chosen the other godparent?"

"I'm letting Peeta choose," I explain. "I chose you, so it's only fair that he should get to choose the godfather. I'm guessing he'll probably choose one of his brothers."

"Can I ask you something?" asks Johanna.

"You ju-"

"Shut up," she snaps. "Why'd you choose me instead of Prim? Or Madge?"

"That's pretty easy," I say. "First of all, Prim is only thirteen. If Peeta and I die in the war, I don't want to saddler a thirteen year old with raising our kid. That isn't fair to her. Second of all, I didn't choose Madge because in the event that I die, I want Haymitch Junior to grow up with someone who's similar to me. Who'd raise him in the same kind of way I would. Not that Madge would be a poor choice, because she wouldn't. I just want him to have someone like me."

"I suppose," says Johanna.

"I trust you, almost more than anyone else, Johanna. I know, if we died, you'd do anything and everything for our child. And you wouldn't let him forget us," I tell her, squeezing her hand. "He's going to love his Aunt Jo."

"Ugh," scoffs Johanna. "You have to come up with a better name for me than 'Aunt Jo.'"

I laugh, but after a minute say, "I'm nervous. If Mom's right, he could be here sooner than we thought. I'm afraid I'm going to be a horrible parent."

"Good thing Peeta will be around," jokes Johanna. I shove her a little bit, but we're wedged in so tightly she doesn't move. "I'm guessing when we invade the Capitol, your mom and sister are going to take him."

"Yeah," I sigh. My hand falls to my belly, and I already feel like a horrible mother because I'll be abandoning him to go fight in the Capitol. But I try and tell myself that I'm doing it for him and his future. "Mom, Prim, and Haymitch will have to take him in shifts, since they're all working."

We're quiet for a while, listening to the bustle of more people coming into the bunker and getting situated. No bombs have fallen yet, but we've only been down here for fifteen minutes. Coin told me once that their systems could detect missiles up to twenty minutes away. Radar, or something like that.

I'm somewhat alarmed, though, when I see Peeta running towards us, so I sit up abruptly and say, "What is it?"

"I can't find Prim anywhere," he gasps. "She isn't with the Hawthornes, or my family, or anyone else we know. Gale's missing, too."

"What?" I snap, moving to get up from the bed. Johanna tries to shove me back down, but I push her hands away. "It's my sister, I'm not just going to sit here."

I pull my gray pants on under my hospital gown, which I promptly throw off and replace with a gray shirt, and start running for the entrance to the bunker. _What is she doing?_ I almost scream in my mind. _Why isn't she here?_ I stop for a moment, close my eyes, and try to think like Prim. Try to think of her as prey that I'm tracking. She heard the alarms, helped ready the patients, then she headed for—

"She went back for the cat," I burst out to no one in particular. I sprint, full-on, for the doors, and even though I'm not as fast as I used to be, I'm still faster than Peeta and Johanna. When I get to the doors, the guards tell me that they're closing them in one minute. I try glaring at them, but they give me impassive expressions, so I dart out into the stairwell. "Not going to leave the Mockingjay out here, are you?" I spit at them. One of the guards rolls his eyes and takes his hand off the lever that closes the doors. I run up a flight of stairs, yelling "Prim! Prim!"

It's dark in the stairwell, and I can't see anything above me. "Prim!" I scream again, hoping and praying and begging that she's on her way down here, that she's alright, that she won't be taken from me by Snow.

"Katniss! We're coming!" I hear Gale yell down to me, and I run up another flight of stairs. I hear Johanna abusing the guards behind me, and Peeta's prosthetic leg clunks behind me on the steps. When I finally reach them, I slam headfirst into Prim.

"You idiot!" I hiss at her, but we don't have time for this. Peeta practically throws me over his shoulder and we run down the stairs, desperately hoping Johanna's hostility kept the doors open.

It did. Not seconds after the doors close, the first bomb falls. The lights short out, but they turn back on after a moment. I turn to Prim and say, "Why did you go back, Prim? That was so stupid, I could've lost you!" I shake her a little but pull her into my arms. Buttercup hisses at me.

"I couldn't leave him," she says, her voice imploring me to understand. "He came back to protect us!" I hug her tightly again, almost laughing in relief.

When I release her, I look at Gale. Before long, I fling myself at him, wrapping my arms tightly around his neck. "Thank you," I breathe into his neck.

I feel guilty, so overwhelmingly guilty, that the one who stopped to check for Prim and my mother was Gale, not me. But at the same time, I'm desperately grateful that he did. He chuckles, a little throatily, and says, "You're welcome," into my hair. When I finally release him, Peeta shakes his hand and thanks him, his voice almost as emotional and sincere as my own. Johanna swings at his shoulder halfheartedly.

"I can't believe you risked your life for that cat," says Peeta to Prim, wrapping an arm tightly around her shoulders.

"Don't lecture me," says Prim, but her voice carries no venom. Prim couldn't be mean to Peeta if she tried; she absolutely adores him. She grins at him and Peeta tousles her hair.

Seeing them like this just makes sense. Peeta is a wonderful person, and is kind and affectionate in all of the right ways. When I see him with Prim, I have no doubt that he'll be the best father in Panem. I'm watching them walk, affection saturating my heart, while Gale and Johanna walk next to me silently.

"He'll be a good dad," remarks Gale.

"Get out of my head," I respond.

"I don't need to get in your head," retorts Gale. "It's written all over your face."

"I guess," I tell him, nudging him with my elbow. "Thank you. For checking on them. If you didn't, Prim might not be here."

"Katniss, your family is practically my family," says Gale, waving off my thanks. "I'd never let anything happen to Prim."

"Thanks anyway," I say. We come up on the E section of bunks, so Peeta, Gale, and I walk Prim to her and Mom's bunk. Mom must still be in the medical station, because the beds are empty. Their two packs are strewn across the bottom bunk. "Wanna come to our station?" I ask Prim.

"Katniss, you have to get back to the med station," Peeta reminds me. I roll my eyes.

"It's alright," cuts in Johanna. "If you want to come back to our bunks, Prim, I'll sit with you."

"Okay," agrees Prim. "I don't want to be alone."

"Me either," says Johanna, nudging her hip against Prim. Prim giggles a little. They dart ahead of us, laughing and racing between people and bunks.

It isn't until we—me walking between Peeta and Gale—reach the H section that anything peculiar happens. I hear a strangled kind of shriek, and my eyes dart around, searching for the source. My eyes land on Madge, who is sitting with the rest of the Hawthornes, looking drawn and pale. When we get closer, she narrows her eyes at Gale, and stands up, stalking towards him.

"Do you," she begins in a low, dangerous voice. I back up a few steps. "Have any idea how worried I've been? Do you?"

"Madge, I-" begins Gale, but she holds her hand up for him to stop.

"You have had your entire family worried sick, and what about me? Don't you care how I would've felt if-" but Madge's words are cut off because Gale has rolled his eyes and taken her face in his hands and kissed her on the mouth. Her hands, which were curled into tight little fists, have dropped to her sides, and she looks so stunned she doesn't know how to respond. Eventually, she does, bringing her hands up to his back, and kissing him back. I grin to myself a little, and Peeta nudges me with his elbow. He's smiling, too.

When they finally break apart, Gale's thumb strokes her cheek gently and he grins down at her. "Is that a good enough answer?" he says. She doesn't say anything, she doesn't smile. Just looks at him with serious, desperate, warm eyes. I feel the tug of Peeta's hand against mine, and I realize we're probably invading their privacy. So I let Peeta pull me towards the med station, and when I look back over my shoulder, Gale and Madge haven't moved.


	37. Chapter 36

** I don't own the Hunger Games. If you have any comments or suggestions, leave me a review!**

** Sorry for another kinda short chapter. I'll have another up pretty soon!**

I don't know whether to be relieved or frustrated when Dr. Borley waves us away from the med station without examining me. She says that she's too busy to see me until we get back aboveground. I really don't want to spend our time in this underground coffin at the med station, but at the same time, I want to make sure the baby is okay.

To say the least, I'm distracted when Peeta pulls me into our bunk. Johanna and Prim are playing some sort of game, but I'm too tired to join in. I put my head in my hands and groan.

"You heard your mother," says Peeta, wrapping his fingers around my wrists and pulling me towards him. "You and the baby are fine."

"Yeah, but Peeta, it's too soon," I protest. "He wasn't supposed to get here until November. It's September."

"What is it, specifically, that you're worried about?" Peeta asks as he lays down and pulls me next to him. I nestle my face into the crook of his arm before I answer, breathing in the sweet, familiar smell of him.

"I don't know," I murmur, my words muffled and quiet. "What if he isn't big enough? What if he dies?"

"That isn't all you're worried about, Katniss," mumbles Peeta, turning on his side so he can see me. His fingers gently push my hair back, and his thumb grazes my lips. When he meets my eyes, he looks like he's a blind mind seeing the sun for the first time. He leans in to kiss me before he says, "I think you're afraid because you think you don't know how to be a mom."

"I _don't_ know how to be a mom," I tell him.

"You practically raised Prim, Katniss," Peeta reminds me. His fingers are still wandering around my face. "This time around, you're seventeen, not eleven. And you aren't on your own anymore. You have me."

"You're going to be the best father," I whisper to him. "What are we going to do when he's born?"

"What do you mean?" asks Peeta, who twirls a lock of my hair around his finger.

"I'm going to start training as soon as I can after he's born, so I can go to the Capitol," I explain. "Who's going to stay with him?"

Peeta waves his hand dismissively. "I already spoke to Coin about that. I'll be done with my training by then, so most of my schedule will be in Command and Production. Coin says I can take him with me."

I smile a little, because of course Peeta would be the one to stay with the baby all day. But after a minute, my smile fades and I say seriously, "Can I tell you something?"

"Of course you can, Katniss," murmurs Peeta. He puts his arms around me and pulls me closer, like the small distance between us is too much.

"I already feel like we're abandoning him," I confess. "His parents are leaving him behind to go fight a war. Johanna, the person who's responsible for him if we die, will be with us. We're abandoning him."

"Katniss, you know we aren't," says Peeta. "We're doing all of this for him, so he—we—can have a future."

"But what if we die?" I ask.

"I already told you," grins Peeta. "It would take a lot more than a bullet to the heart to keep me away from you. And him."

Another bomb falls, breaking the relative quiet that's fallen upon us. Coin announces something over the speakers, but I don't pay attention. I only look at the face in front of me; the face that inspired me to fight a war. Sometimes, when I allow myself to think about what Haymitch will look like, I hope that there is no trace of me in his face. I hope that he comes out with fair skin and blond hair, large blue eyes and a strong jaw. I hope he has Peeta's smile, too, because Peeta's smile is enough to convince anyone that the world isn't such a bad place.

"Do you know how much I love you?" asks Peeta gently, like he is reading my mind.

"No," I lie. He grins at me.

"You took care of your family since you were eleven, Katniss," he murmurs. My belly still creates too much distance between us, so Peeta leans forward to brush a kiss against my cheeks, my nose, between my eyes, before his lips come down on my own. "You're so strong. You're capable of anything, you know."

"You still haven't told me how much you love me," I whisper against his lips, which still hover above my own. Another bomb crashes down on Thirteen, sending shivers and spasms through me.

"I'm getting there," says Peeta. His hand wraps around the back of my neck, so that his fingers brush my scalp. "The best part of all of it, all of you, is that you don't even know how powerful and awe-inspiring you are. You buried Rue in flowers, not because you wanted to make a statement, but because that's just who you are. All of the things you've done that have inspired Panem to rebel, you didn't even think about. It was just you."

"You're exaggerating," I speculate. "You're the true inspiration, not me."

"No, I'm not," says Peeta, leaning in for another kiss. "Katniss, I'm so in love with you, sometimes I can't think straight."

"Me, too," I say.

"You're like gravity, Katniss," whispers Peeta. When he kisses me again, I'm wishing desperately that we weren't in a crowded bunker full of people. I wish that I didn't have an enormous stomach, because it creates too much space between our bodies. I wish that I didn't hear Prim calling my name behind me.

"Hmm?" I manage to throw over my shoulder. Peeta releases me but touches his forehead down on my own, grinning like a fool.

I spin around in the bunk and sit up, and find that more than a few eyes are focused on us. Peeta and I aren't overly public about our relationship in front of the people of Thirteen, mostly because I've grown tired of parading our love in front of cameras for the last year. We're always together, always holding hands or something similar, but we don't really kiss in front of people. Our relationship, finally, belongs to us and only us.

That's why it makes sense that quite a few people are staring at us right now. We're something of a curiosity, here in Thirteen. I suppose all of the victors here are, but people are particularly fixated on Peeta and me. I'm not sure why; perhaps they, too, believed that our love story was fake. Or maybe they, like many people across Panem, rooted for us from the beginning, too. In any case, we draw stares wherever we go.

My face colors a little, because it's embarrassing that so many people witnessed an intimate moment between Peeta and me. I look down at my hands, avoiding people's eyes.

"What's up, Prim?" asks Peeta easily. He wraps an arm around my waist, like he's telling me to calm down.

"Can I come sit with you guys? Johanna wants to go see someone and Mom's still at the med station," explains Prim.

Peeta says, "You don't have to ask," at the same time that I nod. With Buttercup wrapped in her arms, Prim comes and sits at my feet, leaning against my legs. Absentmindedly, I comb my fingers through her hair. I don't pay attention to what her and Peeta talk about; instead, I try to arrange her hair in the intricate braids my mother put my own hair in on the day of the Reaping.

Her hair is silky and smooth, like Peeta's. I poke my tongue out of the corner of my mouth in concentration as a series of bombs fall, causing me to lose my grip on one of her braids. Instinctively, Peeta's arms go around me as the bunker gives a slight shudder.

"We're fine," I tell him, though every time the bombs fall, panic starts to rise up in my chest. This place is like a giant coffin, waiting to bury us alive under the force of the bombs. "Grab that braid before it comes loose."

Peeta obliges and I concentrate on my sister's golden hair again. Grasping the braid between two of my fingers, I pin it against her scalp. "There," I say. "It doesn't look as good as Mom's."

Prim's hand comes to feel the braids and she turns around to grin at me. "You should be glad the baby isn't a girl," says Prim wickedly. I smack her gently on the shoulder and she leans against my legs again.

"You'll always be my first baby, Prim," I say to her. I say it so quietly I'm not sure she hears it, but Peeta does. Scraping his thumb against my cheek, he kisses me on the mouth.

"Does that make Peeta my stepfather?" asks Prim.

"That's up to him," I laugh. Prim turns around again and puts a hand on my belly. Haymitch must be sleeping, because he isn't kicking at all. But I let her rest her hand on my navel anyway. "You, Mom, and Haymitch will have to work something out while we're in the Capitol."

"He already talked to us about that," answers Prim. "We're taking Junior at night and Haymitch is taking him during the day while we're working."

"He's going to be in Command, isn't he?" I ask.

"Yeah," says Prim. "But he told us it won't be an issue."

"While Katniss is training I'll basically be doing the same thing, so I suppose it wouldn't be," speculates Peeta. He's rubbing my neck absentmindedly. "Johanna will be done before Katniss, too, so I guess her and I will be trading off."

"It sounds like everyone gets to be his parent except for me," I almost snap. I look apologetically at Peeta. "Sorry. I just feel guilty."

"Don't apologize," says Peeta.

"Katniss, who's his godfather?" asks Prim, hand still on my stomach.

"I don't know," I tell her. "I chose the godmother, so Peeta's choosing the godfather." I look round at Peeta, whose brow is furrowed in thought.

"I'm having a hard time choosing," says Peeta, still deep in thought. "Haymitch is already playing the grandfather role, so I ruled him out. My dad, too. If we—well, you know, they'd both live wherever Johanna and the baby did so they could stay close and help."

"Johanna and I already talked about it," I tell him. "Johanna said that if we die, she'll raise Haymitch Junior in Twelve. In our house."

Prim frowns, but says, "Mom and I would go back, too. So we could see him every day. But I don't want to talk about you dying, Katniss," she says, the frown deepening and tears sparkling in her eyes. "Let's just pretend this is all hypothetical."

"It is," I tell her, stroking her hair. "Don't worry, little duck. Neither of us is going to die." It isn't necessarily true, because it's possible, maybe even probable, that at least one of us will die. But I just want her to feel better. I turn to Peeta.

"Yeah, of course, Prim. We didn't survive two Hunger Games for nothing," he agrees, patting her hand, which is still on my stomach.

"What makes it even harder is that it's kind of a given that his godfather would have to get along with Johanna. Since they'd both be responsible for him," says Peeta, a wry smile twisting his lips.

"That does make things more difficult," she agrees. "So who are you considering?" asks Prim, her frown going away a little.

"I'm torn between one of my brothers and Finnick," admits Peeta. "But to be honest, I can't make that decision until I know Finnick is alright. Mentally, I mean. And I don't want to do it without him agreeing."

"Why Finnick?" I ask curiously. I trust Finnick, and I know that he does, too. But I thought for certain he'd choose either Farley or Meetchum.

"I trust Finnick," says Peeta simply. "I trust my brothers, too. But the same way you got close to Johanna during the Quell, I got close with Finnick. And I trust him in a different way than I do my brothers."

"What do you mean?" asks Prim.

"Finnick has been in the Games, my brothers haven't. He'd protect Junior the same way Johanna would," explains Peeta, gentle smile on his face. "Finnick cares more than most people, Prim. He'd die if he had to, to protect the people he loves."

"Wouldn't your brothers?"

"Not the same way Finnick or Johanna would. Not the same way Katniss did, when she volunteered for you," says Peeta. I wonder if Peeta ever holds it against Meetchum that he didn't volunteer for Peeta in the 74th Games. He was eighteen, and he could've if he wanted to. But he didn't. _I_ did. I wonder if this is Peeta's rationale: If Meetchum couldn't volunteer to save his younger brother, perhaps he wouldn't be well-suited to raising his child. I can't say I disagree, but that might just be me, being nasty. I can't imagine watching Prim walk up to that stage, condemned to die, without saying anything, without volunteering, the same way Meetchum watched Peeta. It rubs me the wrong way.

I reach over to grab his hand and hold it tightly, but before I can say anything, a round of bombs fall that shake the bunker. I clench my teeth and hold Peeta's hand like a vice. Prim gets pale, but she fares better than I do. She keeps her palm on my navel, fingers spread out, and tries to smile at me.

This round of bombs last for a couple of hours, and I keep glancing at the ceiling, absolutely sure there will be cracks running across the stone. There aren't, but it doesn't calm me down very much.

Prim gets into our bed and I let her curl up in my arms while Peeta wraps his own arms around the both of us. Buttercup whines underneath a blanket, only his squashed face visible. I manage to doze into a very uneasy sleep, made worse by the rocking of the bombs. I don't know what time it is, but when I jerk awake, my mother is leaning over us, her fingers prodding Prim's arm. It's almost pitch-black in the bunker, the only light coming from blue emergency lamps.

"I'll carry her to your bunk, Paula," Peeta offers in a whisper. My mother nods, and scoops Buttercup into her arms. He hisses at me. I roll my eyes at him and let Peeta ease Prim out of my embrace, ignoring the way my heart thumps unevenly when I see my little sister cocooned in Peeta's arms.

PB

When the bombs stop for a couple of hours, I decide to go find Johanna. It isn't like I'm especially concerned about her—there are only so many places she could go in this coffin—I'm mostly just bored, because Peeta's gone to check on his family.

When I've wandered past most of the bunker, I find myself at the Hawthorne's bunk area. Gale has his own bunk, because he has his own compartment, but his bunk is right next to his family's. He isn't there, either. Gale's family is sleeping, which is unsurprising since most of the bunker is, too. I wander to Madge's bunk, in the 'U' section. Gale and Madge are both awake, sitting upright and holding hands.

"Hey, Katniss," says Madge as I draw nearer. She scoots closer to Gale so I can sit down, but I smile and shake my head.

"No, it's okay. I'm not staying long. I don't want to bother you," I explain.

"You don't bother me," protests Madge.

I grin and roll my eyes at her, before saying, "I know. I actually came here looking for Gale."

"What's up?" he asks, looking up at me. Before I said his name, he was watching Madge, a weird expression on his face.

"Have you seen Johanna? She left a few hours ago to 'go see someone.'" I say, watching Madge carefully to see if Johanna still bothers her. She tenses up a little when I say Johanna's name. When she catches me looking, she tries to smile.

"No," answers Gale. "Did you check with Haymitch?"

I laugh a little, quietly, because that was my first assumption, too. "Yeah, she wasn't there. Guess I'll find her eventually."

"How's the kid?" asks Gale, gesturing with his and Madge's interlinked hands towards my stomach.

"Huge," I respond. "Mom says he could come early. Peeta's still trying to choose someone to be godfather, though," I sigh.

"I doubt he's considering me, but tell him if he really needs someone, I'd be okay with it," says Gale. My mouth drops open a little in surprise. Gale and I are back to the way we used to be, and Gale and Peeta seem to have struck up a tentative kind of friendship. But I didn't expect that.

"Thanks, Gale, I'll mention it to him," I manage to get out. "I'm gonna go find Johanna. See you guys later."

I walk around for a while longer, even though it's pointless. I've checked every section of bunks, but Johanna isn't in any of them. I know I shouldn't worry, but I'm starting to when I come to the little kitchen section of the bunker. It's abandoned, because practically everyone in the district is sleeping.

I hear something, though, behind the glass-covered serving trays. So I push open a door that leads to the actual kitchen. It's dark, like the rest of the bunker, but I've been hunting for too long for that to hinder me. My eyes adjust fairly quickly to the pitch black, and I hear a little shuffling sound coming from behind another door.

"Johanna?" I call quietly. "Johanna, are you in there?"

"Shit!" I hear her say, and I hesitate by the door. Another, lower, voice says something that I don't quite catch, and Johanna swears again.

"I'm coming in," I warn. I hear Johanna say something rude, but push the door open anyway.

"Don't tell Peeta," I hear him say desperately. I flip the switch on the wall so I can see them, and burst out laughing. Laying on the floor, half-dressed, is Peeta's older brother, Meetchum. Johanna rolls her eyes and shoves me into the wall, but I swear there's some color in her cheeks.

"What are you doing here?" snaps Johanna. I don't stop laughing for a while, though, because Meetchum's face is bright red and he's struggling to pull a shirt over his head.

"Looking-looking for you," I choke out, still chuckling. I try to compose myself and say, "Peeta's with his family—at least part of it," I look pointedly at Meetchum. "I was bored."

"Fine," she growls, grabbing my arm with such ferocity I'm sure I'll have bruises tomorrow. She looks back at Meetchum briefly and throws a, "See you later," over her shoulder.

We walk in silence back to our bunk, where Peeta is pacing around nervously. When he sees me, his face smooths out immediately. He pulls me into his arms fiercely, wrapping his arms around me so tightly I can't breathe for a minute. "I was worried," he breathes into my hair. He kisses me three times on the nape of my neck.

"We're in a bunker, Peeta. I'm fine," I tell him, but he still doesn't release me. Even though there was no logical reason to worry, I understand why he did. I still panic when I don't know where he is, just because it's a fear-conditioned response. Because of the Games.

When he finally lets go, he takes my face in his hands and kisses me. "Where were you?"

"Looking for Johanna," I say, gesturing towards her. I have to bite back a laugh, because Meetchum asked me not to tell Peeta. Still, I want to.

"Where was _she?_" asks Peeta, but right at that moment, Meetchum comes trudging up, looking at the floor and adjusting the collar of his shirt. When he sees Peeta, his face turns red.

Then he turns on me and demands in a furious whisper, "Why did you tell him?"

Behind me, Johanna swears and throws herself in her bunk. This is odd to me, because Johanna never really seems to be embarrassed about the men she sleeps with. Not Haymitch, not Gale. I narrow my eyes at her, but she doesn't look at me.

"You didn't-you slept-" stutters Peeta, looking from Meetchum to Johanna. Then he erupts into quiet, obviously suppressed laughter. "You're kidding," he manages to get out, before choking out, "Katniss didn't tell me anything."

"Shut the fuck up, Peeta," I hear Johanna snarl from her bunk. I kick her in the leg.

"Sorry," he manages. He kisses me on the cheek, but follows Meetchum back to his bunk, still laughing.

When his voice dies out, I climb up to Johanna's smaller bunk and nudge her, and she scoots over. Her face is bright red, and she's picking at her nails. Her obvious embarrassment makes me feel bad for laughing at her, so I take her hand and say, "Sorry for laughing."

"It's fine," she retorts.

"How long?" I ask.

"Not very," she says in a small voice, hostility gone. "A week or two."

"You don't have to be embarrassed," I tell her. She's quiet for a few minutes, and she leans her head on my shoulder. Because she doesn't say anything, I don't press her any further. I let my mind wander, because I don't want her to feel like I expect anything from her.

It's really curious that Gale would offer to be Haymitch' s godfather. While he _is _one of my best friends, he's never really seemed all that interested in the baby, other than a few polite questions here and there. But the more I think about it, the more I realize Gale is truly a good candidate for godfather. He's like me in the respect that he's do absolutely anything to protect the people he loves. I have no doubt that if Rory were Reaped, Gale would've volunteered before Effie finished reading his name. Not only that, but if I'd died in the Games, I know Gale would've taken care of my family, too. Probably forever, if I'm being honest with myself.

He gets along with Johanna, too. Like Peeta mentioned earlier, it's important that, if we die, the godfather of our child has to be able to handle Johanna. Gale can certainly handle her, and they're good enough friends, despite their brief relationship, that I don't think they'd have an issue raising Haymitch together.

I wonder how Peeta would feel about it. I don't think he trusts Gale the same way I do, but that's only because he doesn't know Gale like I do. At least he hasn't known Gale long enough. This leads me to consider why Peeta is so hesitant to name one of his brothers godfather. I wonder if he was ever actually _that_ close to them. I mean, they get along and they joke with each other, and it's clear that Peeta loves them. But he never seemed as close to his brothers as I am to Prim. Maybe that's why he doesn't want to make Farley or Meetchum godfather; maybe he needs someone that's like us, that would do absolutely anything to protect the people they love.

I wonder if Peeta's mother hit his brothers as much as she hit Peeta. Even the thought of it makes my blood boil and vision turn red, and I have to remind myself that she's dead. Even if she was a terrible person, I shouldn't actively hate people that are dead. Still, if she didn't hit his brothers as much as she hit Peeta, he could maybe resent them. But that doesn't seem like Peeta. Peeta isn't really a resentful person. Maybe—and I'm truly speculating now—his brothers didn't do enough to protect Peeta from her. Maybe they didn't stand up for him or get in the way of her blows.

Thinking about it makes me sad. I remember Peeta—after he threw the bread to me, because that's when I started keeping track of him—coming to school with bruises and welts, more than once. Fairly often, I think. It isn't fair—in fact, it's outrageously _unfair_—that someone like Peeta, who is kind and generous and the best person I've ever known, was subject to such rampant abuse as a child. I know, though I didn't know who he was then, that he didn't deserve any of it.

"I like him," Johanna's small voice breaks into my reverie. "That's why I was embarrassed."

"I kind of figured," I say. "You don't have to talk about it, if you don't want."

"I mean, he's pathetic. Every time I've ever seen him, he's stared at me with those god-awful puppy eyes," continues Johanna. "It's just—I don't know, one day I was moping around. I was thinking about Finnick, and you and Peeta were gone somewhere. Meetch came by to talk to Peeta, and he was just so _nice._" Johanna says the word distastefully, like it's rotten on her tongue.

I laugh, "How do you think Peeta got me, brainless?"

"Did you trust Peeta when you first met him, Katniss?" asks Johanna earnestly, her eyes probing mine.

"No," I say immediately. "There were a lot of reasons why, the first being that we met at the Reaping. We were going to be fighting against each other in the arena. I couldn't trust him. One of the other big reasons why I didn't was _because_ he was nice. I don't trust people who are nice, at least not right away. People that are kind have a way of getting inside of me and rooting there, and I've never wanted that. Not to mention I always suspect kind people of having some ulterior motive."

"Is that why you trusted me right away?" she asks.

"Yeah," I reply. "And Finnick. Finnick wasn't exactly rude to me when we first met, but he certainly wasn't _nice._ More like blatantly sexual and kind of cold and detached."

"What made you trust Peeta?"

"I don't know, really. Even after I found him by the river, I didn't really trust him. But somewhere between then and us winning the Games, I started to trust him. I still did after we . . . broke up? I don't know if that's the right word. After the Games were over and we went our separate ways," I explain. "I still trusted him then."

"Has he ever made you regret it?" asks Johanna, and I look at her suspiciously. I know why she's asking these questions now. If she really does like Peeta's brother, she must be nervous and terrified. She doesn't know whether she should trust him because there's a good chance he'll break that trust. She doesn't want to let him in. I squeeze her hand.

"I mean, not _really_," I answer. "The first time I told him I loved him, he stormed off and didn't speak to me for a few hours. Because he thought I was just saying that because it's what he wanted to hear. I don't know, Johanna, every person is different. I fell in love with Peeta during the Games, but I didn't realize it until the day before our Tour. Peeta's the best thing that's ever happened to me, and he's never let me down. I can't guarantee that Meetchum, or anyone else for that matter, will be the same."

"Do you ever regret falling in love with him?"

"In the beginning, sometimes. I'd get scared and lock myself away for hours. Mostly because I was afraid that loving him made me weak and I was terrified that something would happen to take him away from me. But no, looking back, I don't regret it. Not at all," I admit.

"I'm scared, Katniss," confesses Johanna. "It isn't like I'm in love with the idiot, but I like him. I'm not used to it."

"Yeah," I sigh. I let my eyes wander to Peeta's blond head, walking back towards us. My eyes cling to the sight of him, his brilliance of his face, the way his t-shirt strains over his chest, his long, strong arms. I let out a long breath when he meets my eyes. "I get it."


	38. Chapter 37

**I don't own the Hunger Games. If you have comments or suggestions, leave me a review!**

We've been in the bunker for another three days when I finally bring up Gale's suggestion to Peeta. My mother and Prim are both assisting at the med station, and Johanna's gone. We lay on our sides in the bunk, limbs entwined, just looking at each other. The bombs have stopped falling continuously, and seem to fall just when we think the bombing is over. But here, with Peeta, in a world of our own making, I don't care. I'm trapped in the hazy cerulean of his eyes, and I don't have any intention of leaving.

The words fall out of my mouth after Peeta breaks away from a long, lingering kiss. "Gale wanted me to tell you that he'd be the godfather, if you wanted him to."

Peeta jerks back abruptly after the words leave my mouth, and he looks startled. Maybe not _startled_, just very, very surprised. His eyebrows knit together, but he keeps his arms around me. I slip my hand under his shirt and trace patterns on the smooth skin of his stomach. He tightens his abdominal muscles, and I trace around them. I like when he does that, which of course, is why he does. His abdomen is strong and toned already, but when he tightens his muscles, he feels even stronger. Steady. He is steady.

"It's certainly something to think about," is all Peeta says after a while.

"Peeta," I begin hesitantly. "Why don't you trust your brothers?"

"I do," he counters.

"You know what I mean," I say back.

"Yeah, I guess I do know what you mean," he sighs after a moment.

"Your mom didn't hit them as much, and they didn't stand up for you when she hit you," I guess, watching the lines of his face carefully. His face contorts a little, and he reaches out to tuck a clump of my hair behind my ear.

"She didn't hit them at all," he says quietly. "I mean, don't get me wrong. She was never, never nice to them. But with them, her abuse was verbal. She'd always tell them she wished they'd never been born, stuff like that. With me, though . . . I think she was really hoping for a daughter when she was pregnant with me. So I guess she really resented me. She'd say the same things to me, but she beat me all the time. They didn't really try and stop her, maybe because they didn't want her to start in on them. I don't know," he admits, his shoulders sagging. "But if they couldn't say something, say _anything_, when our mother was hitting me, how could I trust them to take care of our child if we died?"

"I get it," I murmur, kissing his palm.

"I love them, don't get me wrong," he says quickly. "It isn't like I'm trying to hold a grudge or resent them. I just want Haymitch's godfather to do everything he could to protect our son."

"And you don't think that's your brothers," I speculate.

"No, I don't, not really," he says, and he looks like he feels guilty. He tells me as much, then adds, "I guess Gale would be a good godfather."

"Yeah," I agree. "But I chose Johanna, so I'm going to let you decide."

"But you talked to me about it," he argues. "And I'd have chosen Johanna, too. So tell me what you think."

"I don't know," I say honestly. "Gale and Finnick would both be a good choice. But I don't know if Finnick would want to move to Twelve."

"And he has Annie," adds Peeta.

"Gale has Madge, too," I counter. After some thought, though, I add, "But you can bet both of them are going to go back to Twelve after the war. I just don't want to make Finnick leave his life in Four behind to take care of Haymitch."

"Neither do I," admits Peeta. He brings our entwined hands to his face, and places my palm on his cheek. "I love you, you know."

"I know," I murmur. "I love you, too."

"I'm leaning towards Gale," confesses Peeta. "Not because I don't trust Finnick. I probably trust Finnick more, because he and I didn't hate each other. But I think you're right. After everything Finnick has been through, I don't want to make him give anything else up. And you trust Gale."

"More than anyone else, besides you," I say. "And maybe Johanna."

"We should go talk to him," suggests Peeta. I nod, even though I don't want to get up from the sanctuary of our little bunk. Even though bombs fall on us intermittently, it's my happy place, locked in Peeta and I's own little world. I groan as he pulls me to my feet.

A few minutes later—after I've waddled past half of the bunker, with Peeta's arm around me for support—we're standing in front of Gale's bunk. Madge is there, and she gets up to leave, but I wave her back down.

Gale gets up to shake Peeta's hand, and I have to marvel at the progress they've made since he came to Thirteen. From disliking each other heartily, to becoming allies, to forming a friendship. It isn't like they're best friends or anything, but they _are_ friends.

"Sorry for bothering you," I murmur as Gale hugs me. I notice that he doesn't hug me nearly as tightly as he used to. I sit down next to Madge on the bunk and hug her, too. Ask her how she is.

"You didn't bother us," says Gale.

I get up and sit down next to Peeta on the cold stone floor. I shiver a little. He puts his arm around me. _Us._ So they're an item now? I search my heart for bitterness, jealousy, anything, but I can only find happiness and relief.

"So, Katniss and I talked about what you suggested," begins Peeta. "We wanted to talk to you about it, before we came to a decision."

"Okay," says Gale, sitting down next to Madge. He takes her hand, almost absentmindedly, like it's a natural instinct.

"Why'd you offer to be godfather?" asks Peeta. "I'm just curious."

"I guess because Katniss is my best friend," says Gale, his brow furrowing. "If something happened to her—or you, I guess," and Peeta laughs at that. "I guess I'd want to make sure her kid grew up knowing what kind of people his parents were. I'd want to teach him how to hunt and gather and trap, because I know Katniss would want that. I don't know, Peeta, I just want to be there to take care of him in case you guys die. That's what Katniss and I have always done. Looked out for each other's families."

I smile tremulously at Gale, because he's right. I would want someone to know all of that—who Peeta and I were, how to survive on his own—and I want someone I trust absolutely to do it.

"Okay, there are a couple of things you should know," begins Peeta. "First of all, Johanna—in the event that both of us die—agrees that Haymitch Jr. should grow up in Twelve. So, again if we die, that's where you'll need to be if you're his godfather."

"I-yeah," stutters Gale. "I'd probably go back to Twelve no matter what. That isn't a problem."

"Will you be able to get along with Johanna well enough that you could co-parent?" I ask, not looking at how uncomfortable the question must make Madge.

"Yeah, Johanna's fine," he says brusquely. "She's my friend, and we argue a lot, but mostly we get along."

I turn to Madge, then, because if we die and Johanna and Gale get our child, she'll be just as involved. "Madge, I need to know if this bothers you. Because if you and Gale stay together, you'll be just as much a part of Haymitch's life as Johanna and Gale are."

"I don't like her much," admits Madge. "But that's mostly because I was jealous. She's crass and rude, but yeah, I can deal with her."

"Right," acquiesces Peeta. "He's going to have a lot of people who care about him and who will want to see him often. Katniss's family, my family, Cinna, Portia, even Effie. They're all easy enough to be around—don't look like that, Gale, Effie isn't bad—but Haymitch isn't. Haymitch Senior is like a father to us, and despite what he says, he'll want to be there for Haymitch Junior. I need to know that you'll let him."

"Yeah," says Gale shortly. "Yeah, I can deal with it."

"On a similar note, the people who care about Haymitch Junior won't all be in District Twelve. Some of them will be in the Capitol, like Effie and our stylists, and if Finnick makes it out, he'll be in District Four. I want you to assure us that you'll take him to see them on a regular basis."

"Why can't they just go to Twelve to see him?" asks Gale, a look of disgust on his face.

"They probably will," says Peeta, nodding his head. "But it's a two way street. Don't hold a grudge against them just because they're from the Capitol. They're good people. And they want to be a part of our son's life."

Eventually, Gale relents and nods. Then he asks, "Who were your other choices?"

"My brothers and Finnick," answers Peeta. There's a pained expression on his face.

"Why didn't you choose them?"

"I didn't choose my brothers because-'cause-well, I just don't think they're as dedicated and protective as you are," says Peeta with some effort. "I trust Finnick, but I don't want to make him uproot his life to Twelve if we die. I'm sure he would, if we asked, but he's lost enough in the last ten years. Him and Annie deserve to settle back down in Four and be happy."

"I guess," says Gale. He doesn't really know about Finnick's secret life in the Capitol. But every time Gale tried to insult or say something about Finnick, either Johanna and I would snap at him so fiercely that he backed off. Eventually, Gale says, looking at me, "Katniss, it would be a real honor and privilege to help raise your son if you two weren't there to do it. It's the least I can do after being your best friend for years."

I nod at him, not trusting myself to speak. I don't like discussing Peeta's and my deaths, and I especially don't like to stop and consider that I may never see my son grow up. Suddenly, my eyes cloud over and I turn my face so it rests against Peeta's neck. I take a deep, shaky breath, and let a couple of tears fall. Peeta wraps his arm around me tightly, and says something to Gale. I'm trying too hard not to cry to catch what it is.

"Yeah," agrees Gale. I don't know what he's agreeing to. "It isn't fun to think about."

I sniffle, discreetly wipe my face, and extract myself from the shelter of Peeta's arms. "Regardless, we still want you to be a part of his life. Aunt Madge and Uncle Gale," quips Peeta.

"Of course, Peeta," says Madge softly. She reaches out to grasp his hand. "Aunt Madge. I like the way that sounds. Once the war is over and I find a job somewhere, I'm going to spoil him rotten."

This makes me laugh, strangled and rough though it may be. "Cinna's already starting making him clothes."

Madges chuckles, "I'm sure Prim is so excited she can't stand it."

"She is," confirms Peeta. "Her and Paula both."

"Is Haymitch?" asks Madge. Gale seems to have exhausted his ability to speak, so he just rubs little circles on Madge's palm.

"He like to pretend that he isn't, but he grins just about every time brings the baby up," Peeta tells Madge. "I think he's excited to be a grandpa. My dad, too. Actually, everyone seems pretty excited."

"I'm sure," says Gale. "Your kid's gonna be set for life. The child of two victors. I'm sure Plutarch is probably making up some ridiculous nickname for him. The Baby on Fire or something."

I snort, because that's exactly what I thought about Plutarch. Gale chuckles, too, and then Peeta and Madge join in and we're just four ordinary people—not soldiers, not rebels, just teenagers—laughing so hard we clutch our sides and gasp for breath.

PB

With twenty-four hours of quiet behind us, Coin announces that we can leave the bunker. The first ten levels of compartments were destroyed in the bombing, but ours, miraculously, wasn't. Before we've even halfway there, though, Boggs whisks us away to Special Defense. Not only Peeta and me, but Gale, Johanna, and Madge, who has appeared in two propos—one in District Twelve, another in the ruins of Thirteen with Peeta, Gale, and Johanna.

Boggs pushes into a room that's pretty much identical to Command. Everyone around the table—Haymitch, Plutarch, Beetee, Coin, Cressida—looks exhausted. Someone has finally broken out the coffee—I don't tell anyone that Peeta, Johanna, and I have been drinking it from our contraband coffee machine for weeks—but I'm sure it's viewed by the government as some sort of emergency stimulant.

There is no small talk around the table. "Listen, you five," says Coin, looking at me and the people I love. "We need all of you suited up and aboveground. Just to get footage showing the damage from the bombing and show the rebels that we're not only functional, but dominant. Most importantly, we need to show them that the Mockingjay and her band of rebels are alive. Any questions?"

"Can we have a coffee?" asks Peeta. After nearly four days in the bunker without our daily coffee, he's almost shaking from a lack of caffeine.

Steaming cups are handed out, and I slosh a little cream and sugar in my cup before I'm pulled out of the room by Cinna to suit up as the Mockingjay. Johanna and Madge are with me, because Cinna preps them, too. I hear Johanna grumbling about never getting any breaks, but I don't really think she means it. She likes being a part of this, because it's really her only way of fighting back.

Madge—as well as Peeta and Gale—has finished her military training, and I think she's just glad for the break from running and shooting and performing combat exercises. Cinna hastily put together an outfit for Madge, and it's similar to Johanna's. Black and sleek, emphasizing her athletic body. Flavius dabs minimal makeup on my face while Cinna hurriedly braids my hair and helps me into my Mockingjay suit.

"This isn't even funny," I say indignantly. Looking in the mirror, I know I look absolutely ridiculous. My stomach bulges out so much it looks like I'm hiding a ripe watermelon under my suit. I'm dressed like a warrior—I'm _supposed_ to be a warrior—but I look foolish.

"What?" asks Cinna, who's helping Johanna step into her outfit. "You look beautiful."

"I look ridiculous," I tell him. "No one my size should be squeezed into this outfit. I look like I'm about to burst out of this thing."

"Katniss, everyone in Panem knows you're pregnant," Cinna reassures me. "They won't be judging you."

"Sure," I say irritably, knocking back more of my coffee.

Ten minutes, we're all prepped and ready to go, and we begin making the circuitous trek to the outside. After climbing a final ladder, Boggs hits a lever that opens a trapdoor. Fresh air rushes in, and I take big gulps and for the first time, allow myself to feel how much I hated the bunker.

We emerge into the woods, and I can see that some of the leaves are starting to turn. Soon enough, they'll all be turning red and orange and yellow. I sigh. Finnick and Chaff have been in the Capitol's clutches for nearly three months.

As we walk, I can see that debris begins to litter the forest floor. We come to our first crater, thirty yards wide, and I can't tell how deep. Very, if the bombs were strong enough to decimate the first ten floors of Thirteen. I shudder as we skirt the pit and continue on.

"Can you rebuild it?" asks Gale.

"Not anytime soon. That one didn't get much. A few backup generator and a poultry farm," says Boggs. "We'll just seal it off."

The trees begin to disappear as we enter the area inside the fence. The craters are ringed with a mixture of old and new rubble.

Suddenly, Haymitch asks, "How much of an edge did Finnick's warning give you?"

"About ten minutes before our own systems would've detected the missiles," says Boggs. "So we had thirty minutes to evacuate instead of twenty."

"It helped, didn't it?" asks Johanna desperately. I know she's thinking the same thing as me. That neither of us could bear it if Finnick risked his life for nothing.

"Absolutely," Boggs replies. "Civilian evacuation was completed. Seconds count when you're under attack. Ten minutes meant lives saved."

_Prim. Gale._ They were in the bunker only seconds before the first missile hit. Finnick might've saved them. I add their lives to the list of things I can't stop owing him for. _Peeta's life when he hit the force field. Peeta's life when Finnick chose to carry him instead of Mags. Peeta's life when Finnick chose to get him out of the arena, instead of himself._ I groan. The absence of Finnick is weighing on me like a noose around my neck.

Cressida has the idea to film me in front of the old Justice Building, which is something of a joke here in Thirteen since the Capitol's been using it as a backdrop for fake broadcasts for years, to show that the district no longer existed.

As we approach what used to be the grand entrance, Johanna points something out and the whole party slows down. I don't know what the problem is at first and then I see the ground strewn with fresh pink and red roses. I feel like someone has drained all of the blood from my body, and I am dead. My heart beats, but I am dead.

Instead, when their stench his my nostrils, I lean over and vomit into the rubble. Johanna is yelling something foul at someone, Gale, I think.

"Johanna, calm down, they're just roses!"

"Don't tell me to fucking calm down, you little fuckwit," she screams, advancing on him, and pointing her finger accusingly at him. "You're too fucking stupid to understand any of this, what else can I expect?" laughs Johanna derisively. Madge sidesteps in front of Gale swiftly.

"Get away from him," she says, her voice low and deadly. _What in the hell is going on?_

Johanna takes the bait. Of course she does. Because she knows what these roses mean, just as I do. And she wants someone real, someone present, to lash out at. So Johanna shoves Madge, hard. "Who are you to tell _me_ what the fuck to do?"

Peeta pulls me to my feet and I walk as quickly as I can—which isn't quick at all—towards my two fighting friends.

Madge shoves her back, and says, "You know as well as I do that this isn't Gale's fault. Just because you're insane and incapable of controlling it doesn't mean you can attack him." If it weren't two people I love fighting, it would be almost entertaining to watch. But it is. Johanna swings her fist at Madge's face, and she makes contact with Madge's nose, which starts bleeding.

"You don't understand any of this, little girl!" shrieks Johanna. After Madge hits Johanna back—making definite contact with her eye—I manage to pull Johanna away, wrapping my arms around her chest and heaving her body away from Madge. "It's easy not to care when no one you love is at stake!"

"Who says I don't care?" shrieks Madge, who is being restrained by Gale, much in the same way I'm restraining Johanna. "Of course I care!"

"Help," I mouth to Peeta, because Johanna is much too strong for me, especially now that I'm so pregnant. Peeta comes over and throws Johanna over his shoulder like she weighs two pounds, and sets her down twenty feet away in the rubble. It isn't enough, though. Johanna is up and walking towards Madge again.

"You don't fucking know him," yells Johanna. "Finnick could be dead right now, or they could be torturing him, so don't pretend like you care! You don't know him!" Before Johanna gets to Madge and Gale, Peeta locks his arms around her again and lifts her away. "Let me the fuck go, Peeta!"

"Johanna! Madge!" I shout, trying to drown out their incoherent screams. "Stop fi—"

"I don't have to know him to care, _brainless,_" shrieks Madge derisively, like she couldn't care less that I'm standing between the two of them, trying to calm them down. "He's a person, the same as me and the same as you!"

"Madge, Madge," whispers Gale into Madge's hear. "Come on, Madge, you've gotta calm down."

"Do you even _understand_ what these roses mean, little girl?" yells Johanna, who is struggling against Peeta's arms. "He's doing this to Finnick because of me, because of Katniss, because of Peeta. Even because of you and Gale! He's doing this because we're helping the rebellion! And he's doing it to hurt us, he's doing it intentionally to hurt us, and—" then Johanna breaks down sobbing in Peeta's arms. Peeta turns her around in his arms and cradles her like a child, much like he does to me when I'm upset.

"Johanna, it's alright, it's alright," he murmurs.

"He's torturing Finnick because of us," sobs Johanna. Peeta makes eye contact with someone—Haymitch, I think—and Haymitch comes over and sticks a needle in Johanna's neck. In seconds, she goes slack in Peeta's arms.

As soon as I'm certain that she's unconscious, I turn to Haymitch and Boggs. "Johanna's right," I say unsteadily, trying not to look at the roses. "Snow is using Finnick to unhinge us."

"What are we supposed to do?" asks Boggs. "We can't stop making the propos."

"Rescue him," says Peeta. "Otherwise, I'm not sure how much longer we can go on. Especially now we know that Snow is punishing Finnick because of our role in the rebellion."

"Yes," I hiss. "Tell President Coin that the time has come to rescue Finnick and Chaff."

Boggs nods, somewhat hesitantly, and he and Haymtich leave to go speak to the President. Wearily, I turn to Madge and ask, "Are you alright?"

"Yeah," she says, trying to staunch the blood coming from her nose with her sleeve. Gale gestures to someone, I don't know who, and they bring him a tissue. Gently, tenderly, he holds the tissue up to her nose, which is already starting to bruise. "It's not like I don't understand why she's upset, because I do. But it isn't Gale's fault. She shouldn't have lashed out at him like that."

"Yeah, she shouldn't have," I agree. "I'm sorry for Johanna, Madge. I'm getting sick of saying that," I chuckle dryly. But I feel the need to explain a bit more, because I understand completely why she lashed out at Gale. I've done it myself, took out my frustration on the person nearest me. "She's just so angry she doesn't know what to do. She can't hurt person she's really angry with, so she directs it at whoever is closest. Today it was Gale. Most days it's me and Peeta. Try not to hold it against her."

Madge laughs a little bitterly. "I'll try," she says shortly.

"Thanks for stepping in front of me," Gale says gently.

"Anytime," says Madge, with a little humor. "I didn't think you could take her."

Gale laughs and brushes a clump of blonde hair out of her face so it doesn't get dirtied by the blood that pours aggressively from Madge's nose. She tries to smile at him. "What's Finnick like?" Madge asks a moment later, and her voice is much softer.

"Funny," I say immediately. My chest starts to ache a little. "Brave, too."

"I'm sorry, Katniss," says Madge gently. She reaches out with her free hand, and I take it.

"It's alright," I try to say, but soon, I've sunk to the ground and start hyperventilating, because it isn't fair, it isn't _fair_ that Finnick is being tortured because of us. I want to rip off my stupid Mockingjay suit and burn it, but I can't, because too many people need me. So instead, I dissolve into hysterical sobs, like Johanna, and reach my arms out to Peeta. He picks me up and murmurs soothing words in my ear, but it doesn't calm me down like it usually does. Selfishly, hysterically, I think,_ At least it isn't Peeta. At least he isn't in the Capitol being tortured as part of Snow's sick revenge on me. _That doesn't help. It makes it worse, because either way, Finnick is still in the Capitol, and I'm still here. Safe.

"It's my fault, it's my fault," I sob.

"Katniss, it isn't," Peeta whispers, but I don't listen. After a few more minutes of my hysterical sobbing, someone jabs a needle in my neck and I'm gone.

PB

A full day later, I come to. My sleep wasn't peaceful. I have the sense of emerging from a world of dark, haunted places where I traveled alone. I'm surprised to see Haymitch sitting in the chair by my bed, his skin waxed, his eyes bloodshot. He must be as miserable as I am, since Chaff, his best friend, is being tortured, too.

Before I can ask where Peeta is, Haymitch squeezes my shoulder and says, "It's alright. Coin is rescuing them."

"When?"

"Plutarch has people on the inside," babbles Haymitch, ignoring me. "He thinks we can get them back alive.

"Why didn't we before?" I demand.

"Because it's costly. But everyone agrees this is the right thing to do. It's the same choice we made in the arena. To do whatever it takes to keep you going. It's pretty clear that you and Johanna can't perform anymore, knowing that Snow is taking it out on Finnick."

I take a drink of water from the glass he hands to me and ask, "What do you mean, costly?"

He shrugs. "Covers will be blown. People may die."

"Where's Peeta? Where's Johanna?" I ask.

"Johanna's in another room, sleeping off her sedative. You two did a real nice job cracking up, by the way. We're officially in reruns." I narrow my eyes at Haymitch, because it isn't like him to not tell me where Peeta is. Before I can open my mouth, he says, "Boggs is on top of it, Katniss. It was volunteer only, but he pretended not to notice me waving my hand in the air. See? He's already demonstrated good judgment."

Something's wrong. Something's very wrong. Haymitch won't tell me where Peeta is, and he's trying much too hard to cheer me up. "Haymitch, who volunteered?" I ask, my voice low and deadly.

"I think there were nine altogether," he says evasively.

"Haymitch, tell me who volunteered," I demand.

Haymitch stops the good-natured act and says, "You know who volunteered first, Katniss."

"Peeta," I say, and his name comes out sounding like a scream, though I only whispered.

I try to imagine a world where Peeta's voice has ceased. Hands stilled. Eyes unblinking. I'm standing over his body, having a last look, leaving the room where they lie. But when I open the door to step out into the world, there's only a tremendous voice. A pale gray nothingness that is all my future holds.

"Peeta," I whisper again, only this time, my voice sounds like the inside of a tomb.

"Do you want me to have them sedate you until it's over?" asks Haymitch. He's not joking. This is a man who spent his adult life at the bottom of a bottle, trying to anesthetize himself against the capitol's crimes. The sixteen-year old boy who won the second Quarter Quell must have had people he loved—family, friends, a sweetheart, maybe—that he found to get back to. Where are they now? How is it that until Peeta and I were thrust upon him, there was no one at all in his life? No one that he loved?

"No," I whisper. "I want to go to the Capitol. I want to be part of the rescue mission."

Haymitch has the nerve to laugh at me. "First of all, look at you. You're more than seven months pregnant, Katniss. No one in their right mind would let you go. You're already vulnerable because you're pregnant, but you're also too valuable. Secondly, they already left."

"Why would he _do_ this?" I ask, my voice finally rising above a whisper. I want to scream, more than anything I've ever wanted in my life, I want to scream. _Peeta, why did you leave me? You promised me you wouldn't die._ Ugly, racking sobs take over my body, and Haymitch gets up to have someone sedate me, but I manage to say in a strangled voice, "Please, Haymitch, don't let them sedate me. Please, there has to be something I can do to help. I can't just sit here waiting to hear if he-if he-if he died."

"Alright. Let me talk to Plutarch. You stay put. Katniss, there's something else you should know."

"What?" I ask, barely even caring.

"Gale and Madge volunteered, too."

"Why?" I groan. "Why?" Not only might I lose the person I love most in the world, I could lose Gale. Madge. Two of my best friends. I bury my face in my hands, before quietly requesting for Haymitch to move Johanna in with me.

"Alright," shrugs Haymitch. "I'll go talk to Plutarch about you two doing something to help. The boy left you a note." Haymitch hands me a small piece of folded paper, and I clench it so tightly in my fingers I'm afraid I might rip it.

When he leaves, I unfold it carefully, like it's Peeta himself.

_Katniss,_

_ I know you're angry with me. I'm sorry. but I had to be brave, like you, because finnick risked everything to get me out of the arena. I owe him. I know you understand that._

_ I've told you a hundred times that it'll take more than a bullet to the heart to keep me away from you. I meant that. I love you more than I thought it was possible to love anyone or anything, and there's nothing on this planet that could keep me from coming back to you. This isn't a goodbye letter, katniss. I'm going to see you again soon, I promise. On your life, I swear to you that I'll be back in Thirteen before you know it._

_ Just remember that I love you,_

_ Peeta_

I want to crumple the note in my hand, want to throw it across the room. But I don't. Instead, I study the words on the page, memorize them, recite them over and over again in my mind like a prayer. _On your life, I swear to you that I'll be back in Thirteen before you know it._

"What's that?" asks Johanna. An orderly wheels her bed into the room, next to mine, and leaves.

"Peeta's gone," I say flatly. "They organized a rescue mission. He volunteered."

"What?" snaps Johanna, ripping the note out of my hands. She reads it quickly and tosses it onto my lap. "Great. Another person I love in danger. Just what we need."

"Gale," I breathe. "Gale and Madge went, too."

"Why weren't we allowed to go?" asks Johanna waspishly.

"Because I'm pregnant and we're both mentally unstable," I say. Johanna snorts.

"Well, I'm surprised Blondie had it in her," says Johanna. "Maybe she does care, after all."

"Yeah, about that," I begin in a detached voice. I really don't care about anything other than Peeta's life right now—and Gale's and Madge's—but I feel like I need to fill all of this empty space with words. "You need to stop antagonizing Madge so much. She's my friend, and she's a really good person."

"I know she is," says Johanna. "I didn't freak out on her because I don't like her or because I think she's a bad person. I freaked out because Gale said something to me, and Madge defended him."

"I know," I sigh. "But still."

"You know how I am. How _we_ are," she corrects herself. "When you can't attack Snow, attack the people closest to you. I am sorry, though."

I look at Johanna and see that she has a nasty black eye on her left eye. "It's alright," I say. "Just apologize to her when she gets back."

"Katniss, we don't know if they'll make it out alive," says Johanna. I snort. Like I didn't know that.

"Yeah, I know," I choke out. I don't want to think about Peeta dead, Peeta's eyes no longer filled with warmth and love, Peeta's arms still and unmoving, never embracing me again. Peeta's son, born into a world where his father doesn't exist. A sob tears through me, and I'm hysterical again.

"Oh, Katniss, I'm sorry," says Johanna, and her hand comes down on my hair tentatively. For a while, she holds me, and I let the sobs rack my body until they finally start to die off. Good timing, too, because Haymitch shoves the door open not long after, telling us that there's a job for us, if we can pull it together. They still need post-bombing footage of 13. He tells us that if we can get it in the next few hours, Beetee can air it leading up to the rescue, and maybe keep the Capitol's attention elsewhere.

Both of us nod, glad to finally have something to do. Having a job that might help the mission snaps us both into focus. While we knock down breakfast and get prepped, I try to think of what I might say. All I really know is that we must appear to be strong. We can't shout defiant lines aat the camera, because outbursts are short. Stories take time.

I don't know if it will work, but when the television crew's all assembled, I ask Cressida if she could start out by asking me about Finnick. Johanna and I sit, side by side, hand in hand, on a fallen marble pillar.

Before we start filming, Plutarch pulls Johanna away from me, and has a brief but intense conversation with Haymitch. When they finally come to a conclusion, Haymitch doesn't look happy and neither does Johanna. But she's nodding.

"They aren't my secrets to tell," I hear Johanna say. "But if you think it'll help him, fine."

Soon enough, she's by my side again, looking pale but determined.

"So, Katniss, tell me about when you first met Finnick," says Cressida.

As I requested earlier, Cinna is sitting behind Cressida. I look into his eyes and say, "I met Finnick in the Capitol, before the Quarter Quell. He was wearing that god-awful net costume," I say, and Johanna laughs next to me. "And he offered me sugar and wanted to know all of my secrets." Cinna smiles and nods to me, like he wants me to go on. So I do. I tell Cinna the story of the first time we met, and all of the times he annoyed me in training. Then I laugh a little bit and say, "But that isn't really who Finnick is."

"Who is he, then?" asks Cressida. I look at Cinna. He nods.

"I didn't know Finnick long, a little longer than a week. But he has this unique quality that makes you feel like you've known him your entire life. Finnick is funny, and brave, and loyal. When he laughs, it makes you feel like maybe the world isn't such a horrible place. Finnick said on television that I represent everything that's good and everything that's worth fighting for, but he's wrong. Finnick Odair is everything that's good and worth fighting for."

"How are you handling Finnick's captivity?" asks Cressida.

"Not very well," I admit to Cinna. "When we were in the arena, Finnick saved me more than once. I don't mean he saved _my_ life. He saved Peeta over and over again, and when he did that, he saved my life, too. I couldn't survive without Peeta, and Finnick kept him alive when I couldn't. I owe Finnick Odair absolutely everything," I explain, and my eyes well up. "Finnick is my friend, and he's one of the best people I've ever known. Finnick is the reason you should all keep fighting, because he still had enough fight left in him after ten years of suffering at the hands of President Snow to launch a country into rebellion. Because of what they're doing to him, I don't have any reservations anymore. About doing whatever it takes to destroy the Capitol. I'm finally free," I say, and I turn my gaze skyward and watch the flight of a hawk across the sky. "The person I owe my freedom to, to whom we all owe this rebellion, is Finnick Odair."

I think I've been sufficient, and I don't really have much more to say. Cressida nods at me and Castor shifts his camera a tiny bit to focus on Johanna. Our hands are still twisted around each other tightly.

"What about you, Johanna? How did you first meet Finnick?"

Johanna scratches her eyebrow with her free hand and says, "Let's see. . . I first met Finnick on my Tour, after the 71st Hunger Games. At the banquet in District Four, he came up to me and put his arm around me like we were old friends. I think I called him a 'disgusting pervert,' or something to that effect." I laugh. "It didn't phase Finnick. He just said, 'Well we all have our secrets, don't we?' Soon enough, it felt like we were old friends. Finnick and I had a natural give-and-take that made us fast friends. Like Katniss and me," she says, turning to look at me. We smile at each other and I squeeze her hand. "Finnick would call me from District Four sometimes, and it wasn't long until I learned that Finnick really _did_ have secrets. A few of his own, but mostly they were about the Capitol. And President Snow. But I'll get to that later," says Johanna. She glances uneasily at Plutarch and Haymitch, and they nod at her. "During the 72nd Hunger Games, I was mentoring for the first time. It was during the first week, when the children are preparing in the Capitol, that I got a handwritten note from President Snow. I was familiar with what he wanted me to do, but I didn't think it would happen so soon. I denied Snow at first, and he gave me a warning that if I didn't comply, he would kill my family. I didn't believe him, but I was scared. So when President Snow's note told me to go to an address, I did."

Johanna takes a deep breath that sounds so shaky I'm amazed she isn't shaking along with it. "President Snow tried to sell me. My body, that is. If a victor is considered desirable, the president gives them as a reward or allows people to buy them for an exorbitant amount of money. So I arrived at this fancy, lush apartment to find a man three time my age, who had apparently purchased me for the evening. When he tried to touch me, I strangled him to death. In return, President Snow murdered my entire family. For a while, I was so filled with guilt and rage and grief that I didn't know what to do with myself. I didn't have anyone left that I loved. Except for Finnick. He told me, over and over again, that it wasn't my fault.

"I didn't believe him until he told me his own story, which was eerily similar to mine, only he didn't refuse. He didn't kill the person who purchased him. Finnick Odair was a sex slave to the Capitol for eight years—they couldn't really touch him until he was sixteen—because he wanted to protect the people he loved. He learned his lesson early on, too. The President killed his parents because he refused. But there were still other people that Finnick loved: old Mags, whose death could be portrayed as a stroke or even old age, and Annie Cresta, the victor of the 70th Hunger Games. Finnick never loved anyone in the Capitol, he only pretended that he did, so he could save the person he really did love." Plutarch is nodding along to Johanna's words, and Johanna's face is regaining her color slowly, like she is more determined for President Snow to hear her words.

"Finnick wasn't the only one, obviously, but he was by far the most popular. He was perhaps the most defenseless, too, because he people he loved were so defenseless. To make themselves feel better, his patrons would make presents of money or jewelry, but he found a much more valuable form of payment. Secrets," spits out Johanna. "Secrets that Finnick passed on to me, knowing that this day might come. And this is where you're going to want to stay tuned, President Snow, because so very many of them were about you. But let's begin with some of the others."

Johanna begins to weave a tapestry so rich in detail that you can't doubt its authenticity. Tales of strange sexual appetites, betrayals of the heart, bottomless greed, and bloody power plays. Drunken secrets whispered to Finnick over damp pillowcases in the dead of night. Finnick was someone bought and sold, Johanna says. A district slave. A handsome one, certainly, but in reality, harmless. Who would we tell, and who would believe him if he did?

I don't know the people that Johanna names, but I know from listening to the chatter of my prep team, the attention the mildest slip in judgment can draw. If a bad haircut can lead to hours of gossip, what will charges of incest, backstabbing, blackmail, and arson produce? Even as the waves of shock and recrimination roll over the Capitol, the people there will be waiting, as I am now, to hear about the president.

"And now, on to our good President Coriolanus Snow," spits out Johanna. Her words are vicious and biting now, like she is spitting them directly into Snow's face. "Such a young man when he rose to power. Such a clever one to keep it. How, you have to ask yourselves, did he do it? One word. That's all you really need to know. _Poison."_ Johanna goes on to detail Snow's political ascension, which I know nothing of, and works her way up to the present, pointing out case after case of the mysterious deaths of Snow's adversaries or, even worse, his allies who had the potential to become threats. People dropping dead at a feast or slowly, inexplicably declining into shadows over a period of months. Blamed on bad shellfish, elusive viruses, or an overlooked weakness in the aorta. Snow drinking from the poisoned cup himself to deflect suspicion. But antidotes don't always work. They say that's why he wears the roses that reek of perfume. They say it's to cover the scent of blood from the mouth sores that will never heal. They say, they say, they say . . . Snow has a list and no one knows who will be next.

Since my opinion of the capitol and its noble president are already so low, I can't say Johanna's—Finnick's—allegations shock me. They seem to have far more effect on the displaced Capitol rebels like my crew and even Plutarch. When Johanna finishes, they just keep the cameras rolling until she finally has to be the one to say, "Cut."

PB

With our job done, there's nothing left for Johanna and me to do but wait. We try to pass the time playing cards in our compartment, but Johanna finally throws the entire deck at the wall in frustration. We push our lunch around our bowls. After a rousing afternoon of blowing things up on the shooting range, a thought occurs to me.

"Annie Cresta probably doesn't know he's being rescued," I say suddenly. Johanna wipes the sweat from her brow and tosses me a cloth to wipe away my own sweat. We used our weapons down there like we were at war, me shooting at things and her throwing axes until we were drenched in sweat.

"I guess," agrees Johanna.

"I'm afraid of her," I say.

"Don't be," chides Johanna. "She's pretty harmless. She isn't the cold blooded killer she used to be." We stop back at the compartment to throw on clean clothes before we go to the hospital. After saying hello to my mother and sister, we walk to Annie Cresta's room. Sensing my hesitation, Johanna says, "She's harmless, Katniss," and pushes the door open.

"Hi, Annie," Johanna says. I follow Johanna into the room and eye Annie Cresta warily. She has a short length of rope in her hands, and her hands move swiftly, knotting and unknotting it into different shapes. She's even better at tying knots than Finnick.

"Hey," says Annie, setting aside the rope to look at Johanna. She pauses when her eyes find my face, then my stomach.

"Hi," I say warily. "Nice knot-tying."

"Thank you," says Annie, scooting up in her bed. "I taught Finnick how to make nets, back in Four. That was before he volunteered, like ten years ago."

"Annie, Finnick is being rescued today," says Johanna. Her voice isn't gentle, the way Peeta's would be. Thinking about him rips a hole through me. _Please come back to me. Come back to us._ I touch my belly unconsciously.

"Will you come get me when they're back?" asks Annie, her voice low and rough.

"Yeah, of course," answers Johanna. "You look a little pale, Annie."

"Both of you remind me of people I killed," snaps Annie, sounding almost like Johanna. "Sorry if I feel a little uneasy around you."

"What do you mean?" I ask suspiciously.

"I killed the girl from Seven in my Games," explains Annie, her green eyes shifting to Johanna. "She didn't look much like you, but she had brown eyes like yours." Annie's eyes come to meet mine, but they aren't vicious like I expected them to be. They're big and sad. "The boy from Twelve was really young. I didn't really want to kill him. He looked a lot like you. Olive skin, black hair, gray eyes. I think about him every day."

"We all think about the people we killed every day," I tell Annie, surprising myself. "You're no different."

"Yeah, I am," says Annie. "I volunteered."

"So did I," I point out. Annie rolls her eyes.

"For your sister," protests Annie. "Yeah, I know who you are. Finnick talked about you all the time. He burst out laughing when that girl from 2 asked if you had any last words and you spat in her face instead." Annie pauses for a moment, to put her hands over her ears. She laughs, a little madly, before asking, "Is it real that trees have eyes that follow my every move?"

"No, that isn't real," Johanna says.

"Oh," says Annie, relaxing long enough to take her hands from her ears. "Sorry. My head doctor always tells me that if I feel a flashback coming on, I should focus on it so I can figure out if it's real or not. It freaks some people out."

"It's fine," I say baldly. I sit down in a chair by her bed. It's silent in the room for a moment, until I blurt out, "I'm terrified of you."

Annie laughs, not like she's mad, but like I've said something funny. "Why? I'm not scary. Look at me, Katniss," she says, gesturing to her body that, even though it's hidden by her hospital gown, is still strong and glorious. "If you'd known me five years ago, it would make sense that you were terrified of me. I _was_ scary then. But it wasn't until I killed someone that I realized-well, you know. From the second I saw _his_ head rolling on the street, I wasn't a threat anymore."

"I'm sorry that happened to you," I say.

"Don't be. It wasn't your fault," says Annie. "My point is, Katniss, that I'm really not scary. I'm like you in a lot of ways. I'm a murderer, first of all. I regret it every single day, just like you do. The Games changed me, just like they changed every person that survives," she explains. "I just didn't recover as well as the rest of you did."

"Do you miss Finnick?" asks Johanna. I get the sense that Johanna was a little afraid of Annie before and is now intensely curious about her now that she's started talking.

Annie chuckles dryly and pulls her fingers through her curly hair. "Yeah," she sighs, looking down at her lap. A few teardrops fall onto her brown hands. "Yeah, I miss him."

"You don't seem all that crazy," I note.

"I'm not really all that crazy," responds Annie. "I'm unbalanced, yeah, but it was easier for Snow to explain away my reaction after _his_ head was cut off. He didn't want people in the Capitol realizing how traumatic the Games really are, so he decided I was crazy." She pauses for a minute, tugging on the end of her hair. "I guess right after the arena, I was pretty crazy. I had Finnick, though, to help me."

"You're probably the only victor alive that the whole country doesn't know everything about," observes Johanna.

"Yeah," agrees Annie. "But I'd trade it all if it meant they didn't know anything about Finnick."

After that, neither of us knows what to say. Annie did know, then, about Snow selling him. I try to imagine loving Peeta, being with Peeta, and knowing that every time he went to the Capitol, he was being forced into having sex with those disgusting, distorted people. The thought is so repellent, I thrust it from my mind, silently agreeing with Annie. I'd trade my security for Peeta's any day.

"Listen, we're going to go down to Special Defense," says Johanna. "You can come with, if you want."

"No, it's okay," says Annie. "I'll see you when they get back." We turn to go, but as my hand touches the door, Annie calls my name. I look over my shoulder to find her looking wistfully at my belly. "Peeta really loves you, you know. More than I've ever seen anyone love another person."

"Yeah," I say, my throat tight. "Finnick loves you that way, too."

Then I push myself out of the room before I can do something stupid, like cry.

PB

At three o'clock, we stand tense and silent in the back of a room full of screens and computers and watch Beetee and his team try to dominate the airwaves. His usually fidgety distraction is replaced with a determination I have never seen. Most of my interview doesn't make the cut, just enough to show that I'm a live and still defiant. It's Johanna's retelling of Finnick's salacious and gory account of the Capitol that takes the day. Is Beetee's skill improving? Or are his counterparts In the Capitol a little too fascinated to want to tune Johanna out? For the next sixty minutes, the Capitol feed alternates between the standard afternoon newscast, Johanna, and attempts to black it all out. But the rebel techno team manages to override even the latter and, in a real coup, keeps control for almost the entire attack on Snow.

"Let it go!" says Beetee, throwing up his hands, relinquishing the broadcast back to the Capitol. He mops his face with a cloth. "IF they're not out of there by now, they're all dead." He spins in his chair to see my stumbling backwards like his words were a foot to my stomach. "Katniss, it was a good plan. I'm sure they made it out alive. Did Plutarch show it to you?"

Of course not. Beetee takes us to another room and shows us how the team, with the help of rebel insiders has attempted to free Finnick and Chaff from an underground prison. I barely pay attention, because it's so complicated. Something about knockout gas and a bomb in a government building. Beetee's glad we find the plan hard to follow, because then our enemies will, too.

Eventually, Johanna and I are so frustrated with the situation—we try to go to Command, where surely the first word of the rescue will come, but there's serious war business being carried out, so we're ousted—that we storm down to Special Defense and end up waiting in the hummingbird room.

We don't talk about anything important. We talk about Annie Cresta, and her Games. Johanna fills me in on most of it, because I don't remember a large portion of the 70th Games. Johanna tells me how she and Finnick became friends. I tell Johanna about realizing I was in love with Peeta. We both talk about Gale and Madge, who actually do seem good for each other.

At around midnight, Haymitch pushes open the door. "They're back. We're wanted in the hospital. That's all I know."

Neither of us hesitate. Johanna and I take off running, although in my case, it looks more like waddling. The hospital, when we get there, is in an uproar, with doctors shouting orders, and the wounded being wheeled through the halls in their beds.

"Annie," breathes Johanna through gritted teeth. I nod and take off down the hallway that leads to her room.

I shout through the barely open door, "They're back, Annie, let's go!" I don't even have to wait for her, because she's on her feet and she's next to me in seconds. Then we're both sprinting down the hallway to where Johanna is. We're sideswiped by a gurney bearing an unconscious, middle aged man with dark skin. His flesh shows bruises, scabs, and cuts. Chaff. This is how he has paid for rebel secrets. Rebel secrets about me.

When we catch up to Johanna, I can see Gale, a long cut on his neck, carrying a pale, unconscious Madge. But her chest rises and falls, so I don't have to be concerned about them any longer.

Peeta. Where is Peeta? Panic rises up in me, over and over again, and I try to quash it by running my finger along his note in my pocket. _There's nothing on the planet that could keep me from coming back to you._ My breathing starts to pick up and sweat rolls over my skin as I crane my neck to look for him.

Suddenly, Annie shrieks, "Finnick! Finnick!" I look around wildly for him, following Annie's blur of a body as she runs through the crowd, knocking people over in her desperation. "Finnick!" Suddenly, it's as if there's no one else in the world but these two, crashing through space to reach each other. They collide, enfold, lose their balance, and slam against a wall, where they stay. Clinging into one being. Indivisible.

For a moment, I forget about my panic. Because the sight of Finnick and Annie, entangled and finally together again, is enough to forget all of the trouble in Panem, just for a moment. Their love is so powerful it's almost tangible. It brings a smile to my face until the breath is knocked out of me and I myself am slammed against a wall.

"Wha-?" I'm so confused, but then I register the faint smell of cinnamon and dill, I register the steadiness of the warm arms that hold me, wrapping around me so tightly I can't breathe. That's perfectly fine with me. I don't need to breathe. He's swept me off my feet with so much force that we, like Finnick and Annie, have fallen against a wall.

"You're okay," I breathe, my voice sounding choked. "You're okay." He takes my face in his hands and kisses me with such ferocity his teeth clash against mine. I wonder, idly, if we look as desperately in love as Annie and Finnick. Probably.

"I'm alive," he murmurs against my lips, still holding my face in his hands. His forehead is touching mine, and I realizing that I am grasping his face as tightly as he is mine. "I have a piece of shrapnel in my shoulder."

"You're hurt?" I ask, trying to wriggle out of his arms.

"No, don't let go of me yet," says Peeta. "I told you I'd come back."

"I was so angry, I was so scared," I whisper.

"I'm not going to leave you here alone," he respond, finally setting me down. He pulls me against him tightly again, kissing me desperately again before finally releasing me. "Let's go see Finnick."

"How is he?" I ask, letting Peeta put an arm around me.

"He was unconscious most of the way here," answers Peeta. "He didn't wake up until we landed. He's banged up, but he's alive." A groan escapes Peeta's lips, and I frown.

"Please go get that removed," I tell him. "Finnick will be here when you're done. Ask Mom to do it."

"Okay," he says. He kisses me again before he goes to find my mom. "I love you, Katniss."

"Me, too," I say against his lips.

Johanna and Annie are both next to Finnick, on the other side of the room. So I grin to myself and walk over to where they stand, laughing and crying and talking. Finnick's face is pale and bruised, and there are cuts and scabs and bruises all over his arms. But he's alive, he's gloriously alive

"You're enormous," says Finnick, grinning at me with that salacious look in his eye.

"Finnick," I say before I fling myself into his arms. "God, I'm so glad you're okay, we were so worried about you, thank you for saving Peeta—"

"Don't thank me," says Finnick. "I missed you guys. Where's Peeta?"

"My mom's pulling a piece of shrapnel from his shoulder," I tell him, releasing him. Even though he's bloody and bruised, he grins down at me again.

"You really are huge," he tells me. "When's the kid coming?"

"I don't know," I tell him, the words gushing out of me. "He's supposed to be here in November, but he could be here sooner, I don't know."

"He?" asks Finnick. "So it's a boy."

"Yes," I breathe. "We were going to name him 'Haymitch Finnick' but Peeta thought it sounded weird."

"Name your next one after me, then," laughs Finnick. He kisses Annie again, and I look over at Johanna. There are tears on her face, but she's grinning so widely I think her face might split in two. When he releases Annie, he asks, "So what is his name going to be?"

"Haymitch Mason Everdeen-Mellark," I tell him, looking at Johanna again. Her hand finds mine and she squeezes it fiercely.

"I'm glad," says Finnick earnestly. He hugs Johanna tightly and pats her face clumsily before saying, "I'm really glad you guys are taking care of each other."

"You weren't here to talk sense into us," says Johanna rudely.

"Sorry," Finnick grins.

We stand there, talking and laughing and crying, until Finnick is whisked away by a nurse. Annie is right on his heels, and Johanna and I watch them go. We stand hand-in-hand for a long time, not moving. I don't have to look at Johanna to know that she's smiling. I am, too.


	39. Chapter 38

**I don't own the Hunger Games. If you have comments or suggestions, leave me a review!**

Peeta finds me half an hour later, pacing nervously outside Madge's hospital room. He's drenched in sweat, and because he has no shirt on, I can see a bandage that must cover the stitches on his shoulder blade.

"You alright?" I ask, blotting some of the sweat on his face away with my shirt sleeve.

"Fit as a fiddle," he replies, kissing me quickly and taking my hand.

"What happened to Madge?" I ask.

"Gale told me a Peacekeeper hit her in the head with the butt of his gun," explains Peeta. "I was in the front, with Boggs, and Madge was at the back. That's why I didn't see."

"Beetee said there was supposed to be knockout gas," I say, wrinkling my brow.

"There was," agrees Peeta. "This guy must've had a gas mask or something, I don't know. Anyway, he hit her pretty hard. Gale took care of it, though."

"Why was she still unconscious when you got back?" I ask.

"Boggs kept her under," explains Peeta. "He was worried about swelling in the brain or something."

"You're okay, though? Gale?" I question. Peeta _looks_ fine, if a little pale and sweaty. I put my hand to his forehead, but he feels fine. Normal.

"We're both fine, Katniss," says Peeta, pulling me into his arms and hugging me tightly. It's such a relief when he hugs me, because the feel of his body against mine is enough to remind me that he's real, he's here, he came back to me. Peeta drops one of his hand to my stomach, but Haymitch must be sleeping, because he isn't kicking at all. Peeta grins, before kneeling down so he's eye level with my navel. He puts a palm on either side of my abdomen, and leans his forehead against my bellybutton. Unthinkingly, my hand goes to Peeta's hair, and he looks up at me—reverence and love and worship in the steady blue of his eyes—before he touches his lips against my stomach. Then he starts talking. "Hey, Haymitch, it's your dad. I love you, did you know that? Your grandma says you could get here soon, and I'm so excited to meet you. Your mama is, too. You're going to love her, Haymitch. She's the best person in the world," and his voice drops to such a gentle tone it sounds like a song. Haymitch Junior must hear Peeta's words, because I can feel him stirring inside of me. I hiss when I feel his body expanding; he's stretching, and it's wildly uncomfortable. Soon enough, he starts kicking, and his foot wedges up between my ribs. I groan, and move Peeta's hands up to where Haymitch's little feet are pounding. "Mama and Daddy love you, Haymitch. We'll do anything in the world to protect you." It's almost as if Haymitch understand what he says, because he raps softly against my womb right where Peeta's hand rests. Then, he must settle back into sleep, because his feet leave my ribs and I relax a little. Peeta kisses my stomach again and stands up.

"He's getting too big," I tell Peeta. I stand on my toes and try to glance into Madge's room. There's a curtain, so I can't see anything. "He doesn't have much room in there anymore."

"Well, your mom did say he was measuring big," reasons Peeta. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah, of course," I tell him. I smile at him. "I just don't know whether I want him to be here now or whether I could stand to wait a few more months."

"I know what you mean," says Peeta. He tries to slide Madge's door open, but it's locked. He gives an impatient rap against the door. I stand on my toes to see the curtain being yanked back, and Gale's annoyed face comes to the small glass window in her door. When he sees us, his face smooths out a bit and he unlocks the door and slides it open.

"Sorry," he says hurriedly. "I didn't know it was you."

"It's fine," I wave his apology away. "How is she? Is she awake?"

"Yeah," Gale steps back to let us in. We walk in and Madge is lying in bed, a bandage around her head, looking pale and clammy. The light in the room is very dim.

She tries to smile at us, but fails miserably. Absentmindedly, she reaches her hand up to her head and rubs a spot on her forehead with her fingers. "Are you alright?" I ask quietly. Gale is perched on the side of her bed, looking down at her with a worried crease in his brow. Madge winces at the sound of my voice.

I stand next to her and take her hand, and she says in a throaty whisper, "I'm fine. My head just hurts."

"Thank you," I whisper. "Thank you for going to rescue them."

"You're welcome," she mumbles back. She shuts her eyes like the dim light is too bright to stand, and pinches her fingers at the bridge of her nose. "You're alright, Peeta?"

"Totally fine," whispers Peeta. "Finnick and Chaff are in pretty bad shape, but they're alive."

"Yeah, Gale told me," she murmurs, her eyes still closed. Gale presses a kiss against her forehead, right between her eyes. She gives him a small smile and her fingers wrap around his wrist tightly. "Whenever they let me out of here, I'd like to meet them. Finnick, especially."

"We're going to see him after we leave here," Peeta tells her in a hushed voice. "I'll tell him. I'm sure he wants to come by and say thank you."

"Peeta? Are you alright?" asks Madge, her smile turning into a worried frown.

"Yeah, of course," Peeta replies. He glances at Gale furtively. "You should get some rest, Madge."

"Yeah," she agrees, mumbling. "My head hurts." Gale gets up to walk us out, and she pulls on him so hard he stumbles back to her side. "No, don't go. I don't want you to leave."

"I'm just going to talk to them outside, Madge," says Gale, tucking a clump of dirty blond hair behind her ear. "I'll be right back. Promise." She nods at him weakly, releasing his wrist. I can feel her eyes following us—Gale—out the door. Gale closes the door gently.

"What's wrong with her?" I demand. "She asked Peeta if he was alright twice. It was like she didn't remember."

"I don't know, Katniss," says Gale, pulling his fingers through his black hair. "She asked me about four times if I'd been hurt in a span of twenty minutes. Doctors say it's probably just her concussion, but they haven't done a scan of her brain yet."

"Don't worry," I try to say. "After Johanna clocked me in the arena I kept forgetting my own name." I'm not entirely sure if it's wise that I'm blindly reassuring him, but it feels like the right thing to do. It is true that I was extremely forgetful when I had a concussion after the arena, and after the bombing of Eight. Hopefully Madge just has a bad concussion.

"Yeah, Gale, I'm sure she'll be fine," agrees Peeta, glancing at me out of the corner of his eye. "Johanna and Katniss hit each other really hard in the Quell and they're both fine."

"I hope you're right," he sighs. "Listen, you two should go see Finnick. Hopefully he'll come meet Madge. I know that would make her really happy."

"Finnick does have that effect," I admit. "Seeing Finnick could make just about anyone happy."

"She told me she used to have a crush on him," chuckles Gale.

"Her and most of the country," says Peeta. "See you later, Gale."

Gale waves at us, and Peeta takes my hand as we walk towards the hallway Finnick's room is in. We don't say anything, but I can see that his brow is knit with worry. I'm sure mine is, too. I'm tired of the people I love being hurt because of me. I must have tightened my grip on Peeta's hand, because he hisses in pain and looks at me worriedly.

"You okay?" he asks, pulling his hand from mine and wrapping his arm around my shoulders.

"I'm sick of this," I admit.

"I know," agrees Peeta. "We'll talk about it later, okay? Let's go see Finnick." Even though I'm worried and tense, his words are enough to temporarily lift the weight on my heart. Finnick. He's finally here, he's finally with us.

When Peeta knocks and slides the door open, Finnick looks up, a little startled, but the panic leaves his face when he sees us. He reaches his blood, bruised arms up towards Peeta and hugs him, thumping him on the back. "It's good to see you, man," says Finnick, grinning.

"How are you?" asks Peeta quietly. Annie has fallen asleep in her chair, a thick blanket pulled up around her shoulders. Johanna is leaning back in her chair, watching Finnick with a smile on her face. The suspicious, hostile expression that usually decorates her face is replaced by something much friendlier and warmer.

"It's nothing," says Finnick, waving his hand errantly in the air. His eyes skip over to Annie, whose full mouth has popped open. A bit of drool is gathering in the corner of her lips. "Believe me, I've had much worse."

"You look awful," I offer. Finnick laughs quietly and makes an obscene hand gesture in my direction.

"I still look better than you," he counters. "They tell me I have to see a head doctor every day. Like I haven't dealt with worse than _this._" He gestures towards his body grandly. "Really, they didn't believe me when I told them I was fine."

"You're not fine," I protest quietly. "They tortured you, Finnick."

"Yeah, and the last ten years of my life I've been tortured, too," argues Finnick. "At least now I'm free and with the people I care about."

"Katniss, he's alright," says Johanna. She meets my eyes steadily. Johanna doesn't lie. "Like, sure, he's fucked up in the head, but aren't we all?"

Finnick laughs and I sit on the edge of his bed hesitantly. "One of my friends, Madge, volunteered to rescue you. She's injured, though, there's something wrong with her head. She wants to meet you."

"Alright, of course," agrees Finnick immediately. "Hopefully she knows I'm out of business, though." Finnick looks over at Annie again, his forehead wrinkling. She still sleeps blissfully, like there's no one else in the room.

"Shut up," I say. "She's dating my fake cousin, Gale. He went to rescue you, too."

"I'm a little hurt that you didn't, Katniss," says Finnick, giving me the most pathetic sad face I've ever seen. It takes all of my effort not to laugh. "Or you, Johanna."

"It's a great story, really," begins Peeta. I try to glare at him, but his smile is infectious. "After the Capitol bombed us, Plutarch and Coin wanted us to film a propo to show the districts and the Capitol that we were all right and that we were still fighting. Johanna and Katniss realized that Snow was torturing you because of the role we're playing in the rebellion, and they both went into hysterics. Had full-on mental breakdowns. They had to be knocked out for an entire day."

"Propo?" asks Finnick confusedly.

"It's short for propaganda spot," replies Peeta quickly. "Didn't you see them when you were in the Capitol?"

"No," says Finnick.

"Then how did you know we were in Eight? That we were shooting down hoverplanes?" asks Peeta curiously.

Finnick waves his hand like it's obvious. "Snow told me what to say. He didn't let me see any of your-what do you call them?"

"Propos," intones Peeta.

"Yeah, he didn't let me see any of them," finishes Finnick. "But it makes sense that he wouldn't. He had more leverage over me when he could claim that the rebellion was failing so badly that they were sending victors into the field as a last resort."

"It isn't just us," I tell him quickly. "Gale's part of our team, and so is Madge now. Plutarch is using them mostly because they have a connection to me. And they're good-looking."

Finnick barks out a laugh, but falls silent when Annie stirs restlessly in her chair. "That's Plutarch for you. So tell me everything that I've missed in the last few months."

Johanna and Peeta take turns filling Finnick in on the rebellion. He tells them that we've taken three districts and we're on the verge of taking the rest of Panem. Even One is close to falling. Finnick listens intently and asks a lot of questions, and it's easy to tell that he's starved for information about the rebellion. I listen, too, but I mostly focus on the cadence of Peeta's soft, deep voice and on the sound of Finnick's laugh and on the soft, relaxed lines of Johanna's face. With Finnick back, I finally feel like everyone I care about is here, is safe.

Our quiet conversation is interrupted by Annie, who starts to thrash around a little in her chair. She doesn't scream, but gives these little staccato whines that are similar to the noise a dog makes when it's injured. Even though I still don't trust her and I'm wary of her, the sounds she makes pierce my heart a little.

"Better back up," Finnick tells Peeta gruffly. "Sometimes she's a little violent when she comes to."

Finnick swings his legs over the bed and says Annie's name. In response, her voice raises in pitch and she starts panting like she's been running for hours. When she finally verbalizes her panic, it isn't Finnick's name she says at first. It's 'Blake.' I don't know who it is, but Finnick's face doesn't register any hurt, none at all. He just runs his finger along the outside of her leg slowly, and says her name again.

"Annie, it's Finnick," he says softly. "Wake up. You're dreaming."

"No," she whisper-screams. "Blake-his-his-his-head—"

"Annie, none of what you're seeing is real," says Finnick gently. She starts making those dying animal noises again and Peeta backs up even further. Annie starts thrashing violently and Finnick backs up just enough to dodge her fist. Deftly, he grabs her wrist and pulls her towards him a little. She's still thrashing, but not as much. Finnick grabs her face firmly with his free hand, and I'm a little concerned that he's okay with being this rough with her. But his face shows only love and concern, not anger or violence. I try to let it go.

Annie's eyes fly open, and she looks around wildly for a moment until her eyes settle on Finnick's face. So quickly it's unsettling, she calms down and her entire body relaxes.

"Finn," she breathes. She doesn't seem to mind his firm grip on her face and wrist. It doesn't even look like she notices. "Sorry, bad dream."

"It's alright," he murmurs. He releases her then, and looks back around at us. I think he catches my wary glance, because he rolls his eyes at me and says, "Don't look like that, Katniss. In Four, when we trained for the Games, Annie and I beat each other up all the time. It doesn't bother her."

"He's right," laughs Annie nervously. With Finnick here, her fitful spell of insanity is gone as fast as it came on. "Violence is kind of part of the culture there. It's nothing. Finnick punched me in the face one time when I tried to wake him up."

"Are you serious?" I breathe.

"I choked him out once when he annoyed me," Annie tells me, picking at her nails. "It isn't really a big deal."

"If you say so," says Peeta warily. Johanna's looking at Annie in the same way Peeta is. It doesn't really change the way I see Finnick, because I know who he is. It's just jarring to me that violence can be viewed as such a casual subject in one of the districts. I, personally, can't imagine going to a school where part of the curriculum was beating Peeta up. But then again, I didn't grow up in a district where kids trained and volunteered for the Games every year. I shudder.

"Look, we don't hit each other," says Finnick impatiently. "It's just when we're unconscious that anything like that happens. I only had to grab her like that because Annie's nightmares are so intense she thinks they're real. So she reacts like she would if she were in the arena."

"Which means I'd try to kill him," says Annie flatly. She looks around at us, judging our reactions. Then she laughs, but she doesn't sound mad. "You all need to lighten up. We're all murderers here." The joke is a little bitter and isn't in the best taste, but Peeta chuckles a little dryly.

"Alright," I say. I guess I trust Finnick, and if he says that everything is all right, I should believe him. I nod at him, then at Annie.

Peeta looks at me speculatively, then asks, "Is Four really like that?"

"Oh, yeah," says Finnick, leaning back in his bed. Annie's green eyes watch his every movement sharply. Her glance reminds me of a feral cat; not exactly wild, but sharp and appraising and watchful. "Or at least, it was. Things started to change a few years ago, though. People got sick of the status quo, I guess." Finnick shrugs. "But growing up, we both trained in a special school just for the Games. Part of our curriculum was fighting each other with our bare hands." Annie nods, looking down at her hands. "It's easy to forget that people from the other districts aren't so blasé about violence."

"How'd you get involved with Plutarch, Finnick?" I ask, settling myself back down on his bed. "No offense, I mean. I just don't understand how someone from District Four, of all places, can hate the system so much."

"We're all equal once we're in the arena, Katniss," explains Finnick seriously. "You see things in there that change you. Change your whole outlook on the world. I was a different person when I came out of there."

None of us say anything, because we all know that, fundamentally, Finnick is right. Even if we didn't grow up the same way—either loving or hating the Games, well-fed or starving—we all came out of the arena the same. Broken. All of us are the same, desperately reaching for the most distant hope that the future may not be as bleak and disastrous as the present. Foolishly wishing for some measure of control over our own lives, our nightmares, our tenuous and unreliable futures.


	40. Chapter 39

**I don't own the Hunger Games. If you have any comments or suggestions, leave me a review!**

** Side note: I've gotten a few reviews asking about when the baby will be born. Soon, I promise. I don't want to rush it!**

"Please send me with them," I beg. Coin is looking at me speculatively—almost like she wants to send me to District 2—but she doesn't say anything. "Listen, I checked with Dr. Borley. There _is_ a chance of premature labor, but she said there really isn't any risk to me or the baby. We're both fine and healthy. She told me that as long as I was careful and didn't overdo it, I'm fine! Please, President Coin. I don't want to be left behind while the people I love are risking their lives. It isn't fair."

It's been two weeks since Finnick was rescued, and I am nearly thirty-three weeks pregnant. Dr. Borley _did_ clear me to go to Two. I may have sugarcoated what she said—according to her, I'm at risk for premature labor because of my high blood pressure, high level of stress, low body weight, _and_ because I'm so young—but she cleared me nonetheless, with the stipulation that a doctor be stationed near me at all times. I also can't run around shooting down hoverplanes. Or put myself in front of gunfire. So nothing _too_ risky.

Peeta and Johanna were supposed to go to Two more than a week ago, but Coin pushed it back for two reasons. First, she wanted to make a propo showing Peeta help Thirteen rebuild after the bombing. Secondly, the rebels in Two lost some ground after a bombing and just now regained it.

"You understand that the district _is_ still dangerous, Katniss?" asks the president. I resist the urge to roll my eyes. Of course I understand.

"Yes, but you've already told me that about half of the district is firmly in our hands. I'll stay in that half," I say evenly, trying to maintain eye contact with her. Her nearly colorless gray eyes appraise me, size me up, wonder if I'm strong enough—or maybe, sane enough—to be sent into the field. I don't question her speculation about my sanity; most sane people wouldn't ask to be put in harm's way when they're pregnant. But I'm not most people. I survived an arena with a child inside of me.

"What does your husband think about this?" asks Coin. Again, I resist the urge to roll my eyes. We're alone in Command, mostly because I didn't want fifteen other people weighing in on a decision that has nothing to do with them. But Peeta knows I'm here, and he knows what I'm asking for.

So I tell her honestly, "Peeta knows what I'm capable of. He doesn't really _like_ the idea of me being in a district that's at war, but we," I say, gesturing to my enormous, jutting stomach, "survived the bombing of Eight relatively unscathed. There's no question of me being strong enough to handle it, Peeta knows that. And to be honest, neither of us want to be separated. He and I both feel better when we're together. If I'm in Two with him, he'll be less distracted because he won't be worrying about my safety constantly. The same goes for me."

She nods along to my words, her brow wrinkling in thought. After a moment of her slushy gray eyes wandering around the room, she says, "Fine. But I have a condition."

Dread builds in my stomach, but I say, "What is it?"

"We've taken," she looks down and consults her notes, "seven districts so far. They're holding steady, certainly, but Plutarch and I believe they need something to boost their morale. After your child is born, I want you and Peeta to take him on a tour of a few districts." As I begin to protest, she holds up her hand to cut me off. "Nothing serious, I assure you. I just want you to let them see Haymitch Jr. and you or Peeta can say a few words. That's all. There's little to no risk involved. That is my condition for allowing you to go to Two."

"Which districts?" I hiss through gritted teeth.

"Well, we've taken," she glances down at her notes again, "One, Three, Four, Five, Seven, Eight, and Eleven. Several others are close to falling."

"Which are the safest?" I ask.

"Since their liberation, the Capitol has mostly left our districts alone. They're focusing more on the districts we haven't taken—Two, Six, Nine, and Ten—and preparing for the invasion of the Capitol, so all of our districts are relatively safe. Three, Eight, and Eleven have been in our hands the longest, so those would be solid options."

"Swap out District Three for District Seven," I say. I don't like this idea, not at all, but if that's the condition for me going to Two, I have to take it. I'm not letting Peeta go to a district that's actively at war if I'm not there. Peeta and I protect each other. We keep each other alive. Every other time we've been separated, something bad happened. I'm not letting it happen again.

"Seven?" asks Coin, jotting something down in her notes. I wonder, idly, how long she's been wanting to ask me this. Probably since I arrived. Probably even after Peeta and I made her agree to leave Haymitch Jr. out of the war as much as possible. I try not to hate her for it.

"Yes, I want Haymitch Jr. to see Johanna's district," I tell her. "And Rue's."

"I want Dr. Borley with you in Two," adds Coin.

"She won't like that," I snort. The ghost of a smile pulls at the corner of Coin's mouth.

"I don't care," she says, not unkindly. "We care about you here in Thirteen, Mrs. Everdeen-Mellark. Your safety is a priority."

"Thank you," I say. I wonder if her words are true; I wonder if they do care about me here. People mostly stay away from me and avoid my eyes, but I have to wonder if that's out of respect instead of fear and dislike, as I had assumed before. "When are we leaving?"

"Five days," intones Coin. "I understand that you're heavily pregnant and probably exhausted, but I do want you to participate in some basic training before you go. Just to be safe."

I nod, and turn to go, but stop short and say, "I forgot, I wanted to ask you something."

"What's that?"

"After the baby's born, when can I start training? Safely?" I ask.

Coin waves her hand at me dismissively. "As soon as you want. Your body will still be in recovery, but we have a treatment that will speed up that recovery significantly. It's painful, but it works."

"How significantly?"

"After giving birth, you're supposed to wait six weeks, at the very least, before attempting to do any heavy exercise. This treatment—it is a round of shots—shortens that time to four days," explains Coin.

I nod at her, and after some consideration—maybe because it would be good form to be polite—say, "Thank you, Madame President."

"You're welcome," she says, immersing herself in her notes again. She doesn't glance up at me again, even when she says with something akin to wry amusement, "Do try to follow your schedule tomorrow."

PB

When I walk in the door of the compartment, Peeta is sprawled out on the sofa, sketchpad leaned against his thigh, pencil scratching away furiously. I kick off my shoes and bend over to kiss before heading directly to the coffee machine. Peeta must have made some, because the pot is full. I pour two glasses, dump powdered cream and sugar in one, and cream in the other. I hand the sugar free cup to Peeta, who wraps his fingers around it gratefully before smiling at me.

"Hey," he says. He looks so beautiful—blond hair pushed back, strong arm gripping the pencil tightly, eyes aglow—that my breath hitches in my throat. _Thank God for this._ "I missed you."

"Me, too," I say, slurping back some of my coffee. I wince a little as it burns the roof of my mouth. "What are you drawing?"

"Guess," Peeta rolls his eyes. "I'm drawing you."

"Oh," I say noncommittally. My eyes don't wander to the paper, but hold his steadily. As I knew he would, he tosses the sketchbook to me, and it lands on the apex of my stomach. Haymitch kicks indignantly. I pick it up carefully and stretch my legs out so they rest on Peeta's hips. He rubs circles into the arch of my foot, and I groan. After a moment or two of this—my body is more full of dull aches than it ever has before—I flip the sketchbook over in my lap and look down at it.

Peeta is talented in hundreds of ways. He can spin a sentence so beautifully, you'll believe anything that comes out of his mouth. Everything he pulls out of an oven is like heaven in your mouth. When his paint brush touches canvas, it's so captivating, all you can do is stare. And when he scratches his pencil against fine white paper, what he creates is so lifelike you have to study at it to make sure it doesn't breathe.

In the picture, I'm looking over my shoulder at something. Him, I assume. A smile graces my face, and my eyes look happy. There are a few smudges of dirt on my face. I'm in my Mockingjay suit, and my belly juts out, but in his picture, I don't look foolish. I don't look like I am bursting out of it. I just look strong.

"Is this really how you see me?" I ask doubtfully, my eyes still caressing the drawing. Love, overwhelming love, colors the lines of pencil. It is present in the soft, yet bold, strokes of my face, more beautiful than it is in life. It lurks in the gentle swell of my belly and the defiant set of my jaw.

"No," says Peeta. He sits up and grabs my hands, pulling me against him. He adjusts me so I lay between his legs, my back on his chest. When he breathes, I can feel his air rush past my ear. It raises goosebumps on my arms. "It's how you really are."

"You're overselling me," I tell him, still looking at the drawing. He wraps his arms around me so his hands come to rest by my navel. I lean my cheek against his chest so I can hear the steady thumping of his heart. When I feel each beat beneath my ear, comfort and love and hope settle into my bones. It's almost unbelievable that I once tried to convince myself I didn't love Peeta.

"You still don't understand the effect you can have," he murmurs, his lips brushing against my neck. "Still don't see yourself for what you are." I don't ask him what he thinks I am, because it doesn't matter. I know myself a little better than I did a year ago, when I slept alone in my room in the Victor's Village, panting alone in the stillness of night, missing him, wishing that there was a way to make everything right again. I know that Peeta is one of the two people I cannot survive without.

"Coin is letting me go to Two with you," I say, breaking through the emotion of the moment.

"That's good," he whispers against my skin. "We can keep each other safe that way."

"She made me promise that after Haymitch was born, we'd take him on a tour of three districts," I say. My body tenses, waiting for his response to the words. He won't like it. _I_ don't like it.

"Why?" he asks angrily.

"Boost the people's morale before the invasion, I guess," I tell him. His arms tighten around me instinctively, like it's a deeply-ingrained reflex.

"They're never going to stop using us, are they?" he says, anger and annoyance and fear in his voice. He holds me so tightly it's almost like he thinks someone will come and rip me out of his arms. I'm afraid of his words, but I don't tell him so. I'm afraid because as always, Peeta has picked up on something that I did not. That we are still pawns in this Game, still pieces of a chessboard moved around, looking for weaknesses in the opposing team.

"Coin said she cared about me," I tell him, hoping that he'll agree. Hoping he'll tell me that our lives actually _do_ matter to someone.

He doesn't. Instead, he says, "Katniss, you're valuable to her." As soon as the words leave his mouth, I know that he's right. I _am_ valuable to her. So is he. So our child will be, too. And I don't like it. I don't like being valued only as a strategy, and I don't like putting my family in the hands of people who only want to control us. But I try to brush it aside, because at least we aren't playthings of the Capitol anymore. At least we're being used for something good, something worth fighting for. "Which districts are we taking him to?"

"Seven, Eight, and Eleven," I tell him flatly. "And we leave for Two in five days."

"Yeah," he says, his voice evening out. I think he knows there isn't much point to being angry. We are both unwilling to separate while Peeta goes to Two, and if this is her condition for us staying together, we'll deal with it. "Johanna's close to finishing her training."

"She never was one to take it slow, was she?" I ask sarcastically. "I stopped by to see Finnick and Chaff this morning."

"Did you?" asks Peeta, who's playing with the end of my braid. "Did Chaff kiss you again?"

"No," I tell him, grinning. "I tried to kiss him, though," I joke. "He said he's not into pregnant girls. Finnick's doing better. The doctor says that he should be released fairly soon. A couple of weeks at the most."

"What about Chaff?" asks Peeta.

"Chaff has to be in a little longer," I say. "He told me that the doctor found experimental drugs in his system, and they're keeping him in to monitor him."

"What drugs?" asks Peeta, his brow wrinkling in concern.

"Tracker jacker venom," I say, disgust contorting my face. Not a day goes by that I don't think about the horrific things I saw under the influence of tracker jacker venom. "Plutarch told me that it was an attempt at fear conditioning."

"Why? For what purpose?"

"Plutarch said that Snow tried to use tracker jacker venom to make Chaff so afraid of me that he'd try to kill me," I shrug. "He used Chaff because he wasn't as close to me as Finnick was. Thought it'd be easier."

"Why didn't it work?" asks Peeta.

"They only started doing it a few days before the rescue, and they didn't use a very high dosage."

Peeta shudders, and his arms tighten around me again. "You know, selfish as it is, I wake up every morning and think about how fortunate that neither of us was captured," he tells me.

"We were well taken care of," I say. "I wouldn't have been able to stand it if you were captured, Peeta."

"I know," he whispers. "I love you, Katniss. You'll never know how much."

"Me, too," I whisper back. My hands intertwine with his, resting on the swell of my stomach. We sit in silence, listening to the beat of each other's hearts and the rise of each other's lungs, both of our hands twisted against the place where our son's feet hammer.

PB

I say my goodbyes to my family the night before we leave for Two. I'm exhausted from the rigorous training I've received in the last few days, and my womb keeps contracting indignantly, like Haymitch is begging to come out. Our goodbyes are brief, because that's all I can bear. Prim's eyes are full of tears and so are my mother's, but I try to keep my face blank, because I don't want them to worry. This isn't the Hunger Games, I tell them. I'll come back. Peeta gives them tight, squeezing hugs, and I fight back tears as I hold Prim's small, thin body against mine.

"I love you," I whisper down to her. "Remember that."

She doesn't say anything, but I hear her sniffle.

Our goodbyes to Peeta's family are just as brief, and not quite so heartfelt. I have to remind myself, as I look at Peeta's brothers ruffle his hair and thump him on the arm, that they are not as close to each other as I am with my family.

"Johanna coming?" asks Meetchum casually. I try not to roll my eyes. Meetchum is obviously head over heels in love with her, but she is trying desperately not to like him. It's pointless, that I can see already. The same way Peeta draws out the darkness in me with the light and goodness in him, Meetchum pulls Johanna out of the deep, pessimistic corners of her mind. He has a self-deprecating kind of humor, which is good for Johanna. Her thoughts always run so darkly.

"No, I don't think so," says Peeta with a wry grin on his face. "She's at home, though, if you want to stop by."

"Maybe," says Meetchum. I know he doesn't want to look desperate. I give Farley a one armed hug, and turn to Meetchum. Grinning, he wraps both of his long arms around me and hugs me before saying, "You better pop my nephew out soon. If you get any bigger you might explode."

I scowl at him and release him. Peeta snaps, "That isn't something you should say to my wife."

"Sorry," Meetchum grins.

"I'll have Haymitch update you from time to time," Peeta tells his father. "I love you guys."

"Love you, son," says his father, hugging him again and clapping him on the back. "And you, Katniss."

"Me too, Mr. Mellark," I tell him, smiling at him, though I'm a little surprised. This is the first time Peeta's father has told me that he loved me. It's somewhat touching to know that I matter, in some way, to him.

"How many times have I told you to stop calling me that?" asks Peeta's father a little grumpily. "You married my son. You're carrying my grandson."

"Sorry, Fennel," I say, his name sounding odd and stiff on my tongue. "See you in a couple of weeks."

After saying a quick goodbye to Gale and Madge—they're coming to Two in a week or so, because Madge is still recovering from the hairline fracture in her skull—we go back to our compartment and try to forget that there's a war being waged in Panem. We try to forget that both of us are heading into danger again, and we try to remember that this time, we can both come out alive. This time, it isn't the Games.

We stare at each other, trading secrets and dreams and fears and nightmares with our eyes, and for a few lingering moments, we are alone in our damp, chilly cave, starving but happy, terrified but as close as two human beings can be. Moments from a time when I didn't know if I trusted him-when I didn't know if he was really in love with me or if it was for the Games, when I didn't know if _I _was really in love with him or if I was trying to keep us alive—flash in front of my eyes and raise goosebumps on my arms. Though I trust him now—with my life—and love him now, that heady feeling washes over me again. The new, confusing, overwhelming feeling that hit me like a ton of bricks when he told me he'd loved me since I was five. When he told me that his name being drawn was a real piece of luck. When I realized, with confusion and horror and _clarity,_ that I was willing to risk my life to save his. That I was willing to die in an attempt to get the medicine that could save him. Those initial heady feelings of falling in love for the first time crush me again, sucking the air from the lungs. But that's all right. I don't need to breathe.

"I'd do it all again," I whisper, a sly grin tugging at the corners of my mouth. He lifts a hand and drags his thumb over my bottom lip, lingering, searching my eyes fiercely, like he is dying of thirst and my eyes are pools of water into which he so desperately needs to sink. "The Games, the Quell, everything. For you, I'd do it all again."

"You're going to be the death of me, Katniss," he mumbles, and his lips tumble on to mine as desperately as if I am the last real thing in the world. I pull him on top of me and let my fingers find his bare skin and strong arms. He leans back so he's sitting up and pulls me so I'm straddling his lap. "Every time I look at you," he breathes, pulling his boxers down as I slide my nightgown over my head, "the love I feel almost kills me." His fingers move down my body, they brush against my chest, they skim down the roundness of my belly, they find the sensitive skin of my inner thighs

"Don't you know that I would die for you?" he says in a choked whisper as my body moves against his and we come together. "Don't you know that I die for you every day?"

When he takes my face in his hands and we look at each other—two beings created from fire and murder and hope—he whispers my name and I tell him, his body shuddering against my own, mine sliding against his, "Don't you know that you're everything I live for?"

After, we lie together, limbs entangled, and listen to the sound of each other's labored breathing.

PB

I start awake when someone knocks at the compartment door. Peeta's chest presses against my back, and I can feel the strong beat of his heart. His arms are wrapped around me like a vice, as if he's afraid I'll be taken away at any moment. I try to struggle out of them so I can answer the door, but I hear Johanna's bedroom door slide open, so I relax back into his arms and look at the clock. Why is someone knocking at two o'clock in the morning?

"What are you doing here?" I hear Johanna hiss.

"I couldn't let you go without saying goodbye," I hear Meetchum say. Color floods my cheeks because while I have no qualms about eavesdropping on Johanna when she's talking to Gale or Haymitch, there is something too intimate about the sound of his voice.

"Fine," she snaps. "Goodbye."

"That isn't what I mean."

"You're an idiot for coming here, Meetchum," says Johanna quietly. "Katniss and Peeta are trying to sleep."

"Peeta sleeps like the dead," retorts Meetch.

"You obviously don't know your own brother very well," Johanna spits back. "His nightmares wake him up a lot."

"How do _you_ know?" says Meetchum. Jealousy colors his tone, and even though I'm not out there with them, I know Johanna rolls her eyes. "Are you in the habit of sleeping in the same room as him?"

"Those are fighting words," growls Johanna. After a moment, she says in a waspish voice, "Your brother is so in love with Katniss he's blind to everything else, so even if I did want him—which I absolutely do _not_—I wouldn't have a hope in the world. Katniss is my best friend, idiot, so unless you want me to rip your throat out, you'd better take that back."

"Fine," says Meetchum shortly. "I didn't know about his nightmares. Sorry."

"Yeah, well, we all get them. We three take care of each other," says Johanna tersely. "What do you want?"

"To say goodbye," he answers.

I hear Johanna sigh loudly, and a muffled thud indicates that she's thrown herself on the sofa in frustration. "You know I can't give you what you want, Meetch," she says, defeated.

"That isn't true," he argues.

"Yeah? And you know me _so_ well, do you?" Johanna rounds on him. "You're ready to be woken up five times a night by my screams? You know nothing about me. You don't understand what I've been through, so stop pretending like you do."

"Katniss and Peeta do fine," he says stubbornly.

At this, Johanna laughs derisively. Peeta stirs next to me and after a moment, his eyes open. I put my finger to my lips and point at the door. "Katniss and Peeta do fine because they were meant for each other _and_ they were both in the Games. Together!" she snaps, and I can almost see her hitting her fist against her leg in irritation. "They understand each other's nightmares because they lived through them together!"

"We're just two people," says Meetchum in a pleading tone of voice.

"Yeah, and you don't even know if I'll live through the war," snaps Johanna. "Don't look like that, we both know it's true. I'm going to District 2 tomorrow and the Capitol later, so there's a good chance I'll die. You barely know me, Meetchum."

"I know enough," he says staunchly. "And I know that I want you."

"I'm too fucked up," she says, her voice softening. "You deserve someone who's undamaged."

"I've had a crush on you since your Games, did you know that?" says Meetchum softly.

Johanna laughs bitterly and says, "Maybe you _are_ fucked up. You had a crush on me after you watched me murder three people?"

"You did it 'cause you had to, Jo," he murmurs, and the nickname sounds impossibly tender on his lips. Peeta looks at me, a little smile tugging at his lips. "Let me be the judge of what I deserve."

My hand finds Peeta's, and it all sounds so similar to a conversation he and I had once, when I was learning how to love him. An eerie sense of déjà vu washes over me, and I move closer to Peeta, who wraps his arm around me and kisses my forehead.

"I'm afraid," she admits after a few long moments of silence. "Everyone I ever loved was taken away from me."

"I'm here," he says.

"For now," she says, as if it settles the matter.

"Please be safe," says Meetchum in that pleading tone of voice.

"Don't worry about me," she says dismissively. "I've survived two arenas. Plus, Katniss will be there. And Peeta. They won't let anything happen to me."

"It's okay to be afraid, you know," he says, and I hear him settle into the couch.

"I'm not afraid," she tells him. "Not of going to Two, or the Capitol. I'm not afraid of dying, not anymore. At least I'd be dying for something good."

"What _are_ you afraid of then?"

"Losing the people I love and care about. Finnick, Katniss, Peeta, even Gale and Haymitch. You," she says pointedly. After some thought, she adds, "It's funny how some people can still worm their way inside of me after years of shutting myself away from everyone."

"You're afraid," he notes.

"For the first time in years, I have something to lose," she whispers.

PB

We've been in District Two nearly two weeks, and we've discovered that it's a large district composed of a series of villages spread across the mountains. Each was originally associate with a mine or quarry, although now, many are devoted to the housing and training of Peacekeepers. None of this would present much of a challenge, since the rebels have Thirteen's airpower on their side, except for one thing: At the center of the district is a virtually impenetrable mountain that houses the heart of the Capitol's military. Though we've taken most of the district, this mountain—nicknamed the "Nut"—is what stands in the way of us taking the rest of it.

Peeta is fighting with the rebels, and I only see him once every few days. Meanwhile Johanna and I make our rounds around rebel territory. We visit the wounded and tape short propos. Neither of us are allowed in actual combat, because we haven't completed training. As far as I know, Johanna is close to completing hers, and mine barely started. But they invite us to the meetings that go over the status of the war, and I find that it's a relief that people here talk to us like we're actual adults, actual rebels, instead of using our star power like they do in Thirteen.

Peeta is the only one of the three of us who is allowed in actual combat, though he is heavily protected. He has a guard of three soldiers, and is given even heavier padding to stop any bullets that might come his way. Still, it is not enough to assuage the choking worry I feel when he's gone.

We live aboveground in the rebel villages, and sometimes the caves in the mountains. Because of our celebrity status, we're relocated often. During the day, when we aren't busy doing something else, Johanna and I take to the woods to hunt, though a guard follows us around the entire time. It's a little irritating, because between the two of us we've killed eleven people and survived three arenas. We don't really need to be protected. But I don't say anything.

Haymitch checks in every day, either through phone or video conference. He brings Prim and my mom to the video conference a couple of times, and Finnick once. Finnick tells us that he's been released from the hospital and Haymitch informs us that apparently there are no lasting effects of Chaff's attempted hijacking.

Gale and Madge haven't come yet, mostly because Madge's fracture took a little longer to heal than they thought. But today—it's eight o'clock in the morning of the thirteenth day we've been in Two—they are supposed to land, along with Beetee and Plutarch, who are devising a strategy to take down the Nut. So Johanna and I trudge back to the house we're staying in from our early morning hunt. Game bag full of meat, and try to greet our hosts, who have just woken up, cheerfully. The people who are hosting us today and the next couple of days are a couple, two women whose names are Shalley and Harquin Galloworth. They're middle-aged and look tired, but are kind to us. Much kinder than I expected, consider they're from District Two.

"When's Mr. Mellark expected back?" asks Shalley. She has hair that's black as pitch and bronze colored skin. Her eyes are a liquid black color.

"I'm not sure if he is. When I spoke to him last night, he said there was heavy fighting," I tell her, trying to resist the panic that makes my heart seize up. I sit down in a chair and pull my jacket off. Then I hiss because another one of those stupid, fake contractions seizes my abdomen. "Nngh," I make some incoherent noise and Johanna squats next to me.

"You alright, brainless?" she asks. Harquin, the other host—she has bright red hair and green eyes—presses a cup of herbal tea into my hand and I try to take a sip, but slosh it all over me when another fake contraction makes me wince.

After a few moments, my womb loosens and I feel almost normal again, if a little weak in the knees. "Yeah, I'm alright," I choke out for Johanna's sake. Our hosts hover over me, looking concerned. "Really, I'm fine. I'm not sure when Peeta's coming back. We have a meeting with some people from Thirteen about disabling the Nut. It'll probably be late."

"Alright," says Shalley. "We'll leave some food out for you, then."

"Thanks," I mumble. I pull out the small satellite phone I was given when we landed and dial the number that connects to Haymitch's official District 13 earpiece.

"Hello?" he asks, making a valiant effort to be polite.

"It's me," I say in a rough voice.

"What do you want, sweetheart?" he snaps.

"When are they landing?" I ask irritably. I hear Haymitch groan and a faint rustle of papers.

"In an hour," he tells me. "Anything else?"

"_Where_ are they landing?"

"Boggs will come get you," snaps Haymitch. "Anything else?"

"Yes, can you patch me into Peeta's sat phone, please? I want to know if he's alright." I hear Haymitch swear and mumble something foul, but I just roll my eyes and wait for him to do it.

"What do you want, Haymitch?" I hear Peeta ask grouchily.

"It's me," I say.

His voice instantly softens and he says, "Oh, sorry, sweetheart. Everything okay?"

"Yeah, everything's fine," I tell him. "Are you okay? Where are you?"

"I'm fine," he tells me. "We just took the Square by the Justice Building. I'm being pulled off the line soon, since Gale and the others are landing."

"Thank God," I breathe. "I've been worried about you all day."

"I'm alright, sweetheart," he tells me. "Why are you calling me from Haymitch's number?"

"I was on the phone with him already, and it was easier for him to patch me into your phone," I say. Johanna makes an obscene hand gesture at me and I tell Peeta, "Johanna says hey."

"Tell her hey," he says, sounding tired. I mimic her hand gesture and she shoots me a venomous look.

"Do you know where Gale and them are landing?"

"Yeah, there's an airstrip at the foot of the mountain where you're staying," he says. "I think Boggs is coming to get you." In the background, I hear Peeta's surname being called and there are some muffled words being sad, and Peeta tells me, "Scratch that. They're pulling me off the line. I'll be there as soon as I can."

"Okay," I tell him, my chest instantly feeling lighter at the relief that he won't be in danger anymore. "See you soon. I love you."

"I love you, too, Katniss," he tells me, and I can hear jeers from his fellow soldiers in the background.

PB

"Hi," I say, reaching forward to shake a tall, dark boy's hand. "Katniss Everdeen-Mellark. This is Johanna Mason."

"It's nice to meet you," he says, his eyes wide and excited, like he'd been waiting to meet us for a long time. Johanna, Peeta, and I are in the middle of a short propo of us meeting some of the soldiers from the front line. The hovercraft is due to land any minute, but Cressida is pushing us for footage.

Peeta grasps the boy's hand firmly and gives him a smile. "It's been a pleasure fighting with you, Deacon."

"Same, Peeta," says the boy, Deacon. "We're sure glad you all are here."

"We're happy to help," nods Peeta, releasing the boy's hand. Johanna and I walk through the crowd to introduce ourselves to more people, young men and women who are fighting against the Peacekeepers. I notice that they are markedly more well-fed than the rebels in the other districts, and feel a prick of resentment towards them for being babied by the Capitol. Still, I shake their hands and thank them for fighting.

Eventually, when we reach the end of the line, Johanna, Peeta, and I give them a final wave and walk back to the waiting area next to the airstrip. The rebels that we met linger and mill around, probably because they want to look at us and soak us in a little longer. I sigh. I'm tired of being a celebrity. I just want to go back to being Katniss. Daughter. Sister. Friend. Wife. _Mother,_ I add mentally, because though I've never been one, I'll be one soon. I swallow nervously. Maybe these people mill around because they want to meet Madge and Gale. Technically, they're famous, too. Every person in Panem knows their faces.

A man dressed in dark gray is signally with a fluorescent green stick, and the wind start to whip my hair around my face. Seconds later, the hovercraft is hobbling above the ground, its landing gear slowly descending and sticking on the concrete.

Madge and Gale, when they walk out of the hovercraft, are deep in conversation with Beetee about something. Beetee is rolled out of the hovercraft by Plutarch, who waves and greets the soldiers like he's a celebrity. I want to roll my eyes, but when there are calls of greeting from some of the soldiers, Gale and Madge look up from the paper they're studying and manage a few smiles for the crowd.

After hugging each of us, we all walk back towards the soldiers still milling around. I suppose, since they've never met Gale and Madge—come to think of it, Madge's name has never even been said in a propo—that I should introduce them, or something.

Peeta beats me to it, probably because he knows how much I hate speaking. "This is Gale Hawthorne, Katniss's cousin and my cousin-in-law," he tell them. Once he starts speaking, they quiet down so he doesn't have to speak above a normal volume. "He's a soldier with District 13 now, as you've all seen in the propos. This," he says, gesturing towards Madge. She gives a small smile and a wave. "Is Madge Undersee. She's mine and Katniss's friend from District Twelve. You may recognize her from some recent propos. She's also a soldier with Thirteen."

I notice the dark boy, Deacon, that fought alongside Peeta, is eyeing Madge appreciatively. While Madge _is_ beautiful—her looks are cut from the same cloth as Peeta's and Prim's—it irritates me, because there's much more to her than a pretty face.

Since she's been inducted into our circle of celebrity faces, Plutarch and Beetee realized that Madge has a gift for strategy and is particularly gifted as predicting human behavior. That's one of the reasons she and Gale were sent to Two in the first place; they both work alongside Beetee devising weapons and stratagem for the war.

"While it would be a pleasure to stay and chat with you all," begins Plutarch, "we have official war business to attend to. I can assure you, you'll see much more of our pair of rebels, Peeta Mellark and Katniss Everdeen-Mellark."

Gale and Madge are put into normal military vehicles along with Beetee and a few other people—famous but not famous enough to assassinate—but Peeta, Johanna, Plutarch, and I are shoved into heavily armored cars that are surrounded by other armored vehicles.

"Sorry," says Plutarch apologetically. "Bigger chance you'll be assassinated out in the open."

"Thanks for the reassurance," I say through gritted teeth. Peeta takes my hand and traces little patterns on it absentmindedly. The feel of his skin on mine is enough to calm my racing heart a little, though not for long, because my womb contracts again.

We arrive at a building built into the edge of a mountain, but I avoid the conference table and perch on the wide windowsill that has a view of the Nut. The commander from 2, a middle-aged woman named Lyme, takes us on a virtual tour of the Nut, its interior and fortifications, and recount the failed attempts to seize it. I'd crossed paths with her a few times since my arrival, and was dogged by the feeling I'd met her before. She's memorable enough, standing over six feet tall and heavily muscled. But it's only when I see a clip of her in the field leading a raid on the main entrance of the Nut, that something clicks and I realize that I'm in the presence of another victor.

Peeta stands next to me, leaning against a tall stone support by the window. His hand falls on my leg casually, but it's enough to send chills through my body. I look at him out of the corner of my eye. He's listening to Lyme intently, his jaw clenched in concentration, looking so strong and so beautiful. A sense of pride washes over me. _He is mine. No one else's._ He doesn't say anything as Lyme finishes the presentation and questions from the brains—Beetee, Plutarch, Gale, Madge—begin. Hours pass and lunch comes and goes as they argue and try to come up with a realistic plan for taking the Nut. There are no particularly innovative thoughts, aside from Beetee thinking he might be able to override computer systems, and they argue and argue. Talk keeps returning to a strategy that has been tried repeatedly—the storming of the entrances. I can see Lyme's frustration building because so many variations of this plan have already failed. Finally, she bursts out, "The next person who suggest we take the entrances better have a brilliant want to do it, because you're going to be the one leading the mission!"

Gale and Madge's heads come up at the same time and they look at each other furtively. I'm wondering if they're about to have an emotional moment—which would be inappropriate considering the setting—but then I see the look in Gale's eyes. It's the same look he wears when he's setting a snare in the woods, and it sets my nerves on edge. They both accepted Lyme's assertion that the entrances couldn't be taken, and dropped out of the conversation entirely, aside from whispering quiet suggestions and thoughts to each other. It's odd watching them; it's almost like they're two halves of a whole, thinking along the same wavelengths and reading each other's minds.

In the silence the follows Lyme's ultimatum, Madge speaks up—no longer the hesitant, quiet girl from Twelve, but a brave, confident soldier—and says, "Is it really so necessary that we take the Nut? Or would it be enough to disable it?"

"That would be a step in the right direction," says Lyme. "What do you have in mind?"

"Well, Gale and I have been working on using natural situations, elements, and responses as an integral part of man-made weapons," explains Madge. "For example, this would be similar to a-"

"Wild dog den," finishes Gale. "You can't fight your way in, so you have to trap the dogs inside or flush them out."

"Exactly," says Madge, twisting a pencil around in her fingers. "We're in the mountains, Commander Lyme. There's a perfect weapon waiting at our disposal to trap them in."

"What do you mean?" asks Beetee. Gale and Madge stand up and walk over to the window where Peeta and I sit, so we get up and shuffle out of the way.

Gale points at the nut and says, "See that? Running down the sides?"

"Avalanche paths," breathes Beetee.

"Exactly," says Madge. "We use explosive detonations to set off a chain of avalanches."

Beetee is nodding along to her words, and says, "It'd be tricky. We'd have to design the detonation sequences with great care, and once it's in motion, we couldn't hope to control it."

"We don't need to control it," says Gale. "Not if we give up the idea that we have to possess the Nut. We only need to shut it down."

"So, you're suggesting that we start avalanches and block the entrances?"

"That's it," says Gale. "Trap the enemy inside, cut off from supplies."

"It'll make them impossible for them to send out more hovercraft," notes Madge, who studies the lines of the mountains carefully.

Everyone considers the plan, and Boggs flips through a stack of blueprints of the Nut and frowns. "You risk killing everyone inside. Look at the ventilation system. It's rudimentary at best, nothing like what we have in Thirteen. It depends entirely on pumping in air from the mountainside. Block those vents and you'll suffocate whoever is trapped."

"They could still escape through the train tunnel to the square," suggests Beetee.

"Not if we blow it up," says Gale casually. His full intent—I am not sure if it's Madge's intent—is not to preserve the lives of those inside the mountain. It is to kill everyone inside.

The implications of what Gale has just suggested ripple through the room. After a moment of silence, Madge says softly, "Gale, no."

"The majority of the workers are citizens from Two," chimes in Beetee. Peeta and I look at each other instinctively. There's some measure of disgust written into the lines of his face and that's the feeling that settles deep into my gut. It isn't fair, really; there are citizens, innocent people in the Nut. Who are we to condemn them to death? Peeta's hand finds mine.

"They should have a chance to surrender," says Lyme.

"That wasn't a luxury we were afforded when they firebombed Twelve, but you're all so much cozier with the Capitol here," says Gale. By the look on Lyme's face, I think she might shoot him, or at least take a swing. But Gale looks at Madge, instead, and says in a low voice, "We watched children burn to death and there was nothing we could do."

"Gale, they're still people," says Madge gently. "They aren't the ones who ordered the bombs. It isn't fair."

His words make me angry, and for a moment, I want everyone in that mountain dead. But then I realize that I'm a girl from Twelve. I'm not President Snow. I can't condemn someone to the death he's suggesting.

"Gale, the Nut's an old mine. It'd be like creating a massive coal mining accident," I say, hoping the words will give him a little pause. They don't.

"Not so quick as the one that killed our fathers," he retorts. "Is that the problem? That our enemies might have a few hours to reflect on the fact that they're dying, instead of just being blown to bits?"

"You have to stop thinking of _everyone_ as the enemy, Gale," says Peeta reasonably. "Yeah, there are some loyalists in there, but we aren't the Capitol. We don't just kill people because of who they're associated with." Gale looks like he's about to say something nasty in return, and I wrap my fingers around Peeta's wrist, but Peeta just says, "Listen, Gale, I don't care how impersonal you try to make it. Killing people, murdering innocent people—it's always personal. We cannot condemn innocent people to death just because it's for the greater good. With that logic, you could justify anything, even the Hunger Games."

"It isn't the same," growls Gale.

"Maybe not to you," continues Peeta in his reasonable tone. "The rebellion is supposed to bring change to Panem, Gale, and all this is doing is following an awful, violent precedent that Snow set years ago. We _aren't_ the Capitol, and we aren't Snow. We shouldn't play games with these people's lives. Madge is right. They're still people, and it isn't our place to call the shots on their lives."

Peeta, as always, has found exactly the right words that, in any other circumstance, would persuade anyone listening. But Gale is the most stubborn person I've ever met, and he continues to scowl at Peeta.

"Listen, you said there were two options," begins Boggs. "Trap them in or flush them out. We could just as easily flush them out with this plan."

"Yes, I think you're right," says Madge. She goes to stand next to him so she can study the blueprints of the Nut. She nudges Boggs and points at the blueprint. "We could leave this train tunnel alone, so people can escape into the square. We'll wait for them there."

"Heavily armed, I hope," snaps Gale. Madge turns to look at him, but her look isn't disappointed or defensive. She knows exactly who he is, and his perspective doesn't surprise her. She nods.

"Heavily armed," says Boggs. "We'll take them prisoner."

Another false contraction seizes my stomach, and it's more painful than the others. Beetee says something about sustaining a viable population, and I groan through my teeth. Peeta pulls me out of the room just as Plutarch calls a number of people into a video conference with Coin in Thirteen.

Before the conference—which, out of us, only Madge is invited into—Peeta pulls Madge aside and is telling her something about making sure Coin knows the upsides of keeping the train tunnels open. Johanna, who was silent the entire meeting, follows us into the hallway and says, "Shame. I think Gale was right."

Gale, who is walking into the hallway, hears her and manages a mangled-looking grin. Gale puts his hand on Madge's shoulder and says, "They're ready."

"Alright, thanks," she murmurs to him, and squeezes his hand before walking back into the room. Gale immediately, without saying a word to Peeta or me, strides off in Johanna's direction, and they have a heated, hissed conversation halfway down the hallway.

The conference call does not take long, though I can hear heated, arguing voices inside the room. Eventually, Boggs comes out and tells us that they're leaving the train tunnels open, which irritates Gale. I, along with Peeta and Johanna, are told to get into our outfits, because there might be a good opportunity for a propo. Boggs fastens my earpiece that connects to Haymitch in Thirteen on my ear and clips the wire to my collarbone. We're transported to the roof of the Justice Building, where we're heavily guarded, waiting for something to happen. And happen it does.

Our hoverplanes are initially ignored by the commanders in the Nut, because in the past they've been little more trouble than flies buzzing around a honeypot. But after two rounds of bombings in the higher elevations of the mountain, the planes have their attention. By the time the Capitol's antiaircraft weapons begin to fire, it's already too late.

Gale and Madge's plan exceeds anyone's expectations. Beetee was right about being unable to control the avalanches once they'd been set in motion. The mountainsides are naturally unstable, but weakened by the explosions, they seem almost fluid. Whole sections of the Nut collapse before our eyes, obliterating any signs that human beings have ever set foot in the place. We stand speechless, tiny and insignificant, as waves of stone thunder down the mountain, burying the entrances under tons of rock. Raising a cloud of dirt and debris that blackens the sky. Turning the Nut into a tomb.

_ What did we just do?_

It isn't until I hear Haymitch's voice in my earpiece that I realize both of my hands are clamped tightly over my mouth. "Katniss! Peeta! Johanna, for God's sake, answer me!"

I look over at Peeta and his face is a chalky white. He looks sick. One of his hands covers his mouth, and the other is knotted in his hair. He looks genuinely distraught. When I look at Johanna, I'm surprised to see that she looks more or less like Peeta. I think, in theory, she approved of Gale and Madge's plan, but once she saw how devastatingly effective it was, she lost her taste for it. Of us three, though, she is the only one cognizant enough to say, "Yeah, Haymitch, we're here."

"You three need to get inside. Just in case the Capitol tries to retaliate with what's left of its air force."

Silently, we allow ourselves to be brought to the entrance hall of Two's Justice Building. Another contraction tightens my womb and this time, it hurts, badly. I don't know where Madge and Gale are—maybe they're being suited up in case we film a propo, maybe they had last minute meetings, I don't know—but I don't care that much right now. Dr. Borley, who was ordered along on my excursion to Two, comes to check up on me while we wait. Boggs hovers protectively over me, and, deciding that I look cold, gets a blanket and wraps it around my shoulders.

"Oh, no," I hear Dr. Borley say, as her hands probe low between my hips. "No, no, no, this is not good."

"What?" Peeta asks, panicked. "What happened? What's going on?"

"Katniss, how long have you been having contractions today?" Dr. Borley asks, pulling open her large bag and taking out a thin white gown. I don't answer her, because she's yelling to Boggs, "Is there any chance we can get her out?"

Boggs, who turns to see her look of panic, speaks hurriedly into his earpiece, "Something's happened with Katniss, Haymitch, we need to get her out. No, I don't know where Plutarch is or I'd ask him. What? Are you sure? Fine," he finally snaps. Turning to Borley, he says, "We can't extract her now, doctor."

"Find me a room, preferably one with something she can lay down on," says Dr. Borley in an even voice.

"Tell us what's going on!" demands Peeta. Johanna is fast on Boggs's heels, I'm assuming to help him. The contraction peters out a bit, but is replaced with another within five minutes. Dr. Borley starts unzipping my costume, hurriedly trying to get me out of it, and Peeta, seeing what she's doing, decides to help. Finally, he removes the long, two-inch think armor that covers my stomach and pulls the thin gown around me.

"Katniss is having this baby tonight," says Dr. Borley brusquely.


	41. Chapter 40

** I don't own the Hunger Games. If you have any comments or suggestions, leave me a review!**

"How many times have you had contractions today, Katniss?" asks Dr. Borley impatiently. She presses on my abdomen hard, and frowns.

"On and off all day," I tell her. "But they didn't hurt, I just thought they were the fake ones you told me about."

"How far apart?" asks Dr. Borley.

"I don't know, this morning they were like, twenty minutes apart," I tell her, clenching my teeth.

"Katniss, he's dropped so low he's going to come out in the next couple of hours," she informs me.

Johanna comes hurtling down the stairs and yells, "We found a room!"

Peeta sweeps me up into his arms and runs up the grand staircase. Meanwhile, I start hyperventilating. "Peeta, I-I-I- I'm so scared, I'm not ready to be a mom, oh my God, what if they bomb the building and we all die? Oh my God, I'm—"

"It's all right, Katniss," he tries to tell me in a soothing voice, but the lines of his face are worried, too. "You're going to be the best mother, I promise."

Soon enough, Peeta's following Johanna into a room and setting me down gently on a bed. "On your side, Katniss," Dr. Borley tells me. "You may be in labor for a while before you have to start pushing."

"It's too early," I gasp, because another contraction has seized me and it's more painful than the last.

"I would've given you medicine to stop the labor, but you've been having contractions for too long," she says in a calm, soothing voice. She tells me to look at her, so I do. "Listen, you're going to do fine. The baby is bigger and better developed than a lot of babies his age. He'll be fine." I nod frantically at her and look up at Peeta in panic. He's looking at me and even though his eyes are steady and calming, I can tell he's nervous.

"No, tell Madge and Gale they're on their own for this propo," Boggs is snapping into a sat phone. "Plutarch, I don't give a damn. The girl's in labor. That's what Coin said? Fine. Send them in." Boggs throws the sat phone across the room and approaches me. In a fatherly way that makes my heart ache for my own dad, he strokes my face and says, "Katniss, Coin wants your propo team to get a quick clip of you to broadcast to the districts."

"Now?" I say through gritted teeth. Peeta swears under his breath and opens his mouth to argue but I snap, "Peeta! This isn't Boggs's fault."

"If it didn't come from the President herself, I wouldn't ask," he says gently.

I nod wearily, though I have absolutely no desire to see a camera at all. Minutes later, Cressida comes in, looking pale but excited. Another person who rooted for us from the beginning. I try to smile at her but it's more like a grimace. Almost immediately, the red light turns on.

"Katniss, Peeta, can you tell us what's happening?" she asks, motioning towards us with her hand.

I open my mouth to speak but groan as my womb contracts. After a moment, the pain is so intense I scream into my gritted teeth.

Peeta saves me and says, "Katniss and I are in District 2, which is about to fall to the rebels, and we're about to have a baby."

"Now?" asks Cressida.

"Yes, right now," says Peeta excitedly. "Haymitch Everdeen-Mellark will be coming into the world tonight."

"Do you have anything to say, Katniss?" asks Cressida.

"Only that," I start but have to clench my teeth again. "We're so-so excited for y-you to meet our son."

"Peeta, I need you to pull Katniss's leg up, towards her head," says Dr. Borley is a soothing, in-control voice. "I need to measure how dilated her cervix is." Peeta starts to pull the leg that's on the bottom up, but Dr. Borley says, "No, her left leg."

Johanna clamps down on my hands, and Dr. Borley holds a metal device—it looks like it's for measurement—against my cervix. It's cold, and I wince a little. Dr. Borley breathes a sigh of relief and sets the instrument on a table.

"Katniss, you're dilated to six centimeters," she tells me seriously. "I know we've gone over this in our appointments, but you have to start pushing when you're at ten, okay?"

"Okay," I grunt, nodding at her frantically. I look up at Peeta and feel the urge to cry, especially when I see that Cressida and Pollux are still there. "Don't you have enough?"

"I'm sorry," says Cressida quickly, and nodding at Pollux, she exits the room hastily, but not before telling Boggs, "Coin wants you to call us as soon as he's born."

Another contraction comes, and this time, I make some sort of strangled noise that's halfway between a scream and a groan. Peeta is crouched down, stroking my face immediately. "I love you, Katniss, you're doing so well. I love you so much," he tells me soothingly.

"Will you tie my hair up?" I whine. "Put it in a bun, I don't want any of it on my face." He does as I ask and puts my hair in a sloppy bun on the top of my head. Despite the fact that there is no hair on my neck, I'm still sweating profusely.

Through the window, I can see that night is falling quickly. Johanna looks out and tells me there's no sign of anyone coming from the train tunnels, not yet. But it hasn't been that long since the mountain was bombed. I wonder who'll come out first: the broken people in the Nut or my son?

"Johanna," says Dr. Borley suddenly, tying her long black hair into a knot not unlike my own. Johanna snaps her attention to the doctor, looking pale and drawn. "Since I don't have a nurse here to help me, you're going to do it."

"I don't know—"

"Is Katniss your best friend or not?" asks Dr. Borley impatiently, but not unkindly. Though I can tell she hides it well, she is worried about me giving birth in such close proximity to a battle.

"Of course she is," says Johanna scathingly. "You bit-"

"Then you need to help me," says Borley, cutting over her profanity.

"How?"

"There's an armored truck on the south side of the building. There's a red cross on the side of it," says Dr. Borley. "In the back, there are two large plastic boxes. They're white. You and Boggs need to go get them."

Johanna and Boggs nod and pull out their guns at the same time, running from the room as fast as they can muster. I look back at Peeta and we hold each other's eyes, his calming mine every time a painful contraction seizes my body.

"You're doing so good, baby, so good," he croons to me after a particularly painful one. "God, you look so beautiful right now. I love you so much."

"Why did you get me pregnant?" I groan, and I hear Dr. Borley chuckle from my feet. Sweat beads his forehead, and I frown, pulling at his bulletproof vest. "You're not gonna get shot in here. Might as well get comfortable."

"She's right," says Dr. Borley. Peeta takes off the heavier laying of his clothes, leaving only the black t-shirt and black military style pants. "All right, Peeta, let's lift that leg up again." She sticks the measuring device up against my cervix again, and says, "All right, we're at seven centimeters. Try to lay back and relax, Katniss."

Johanna and Boggs come back in with two large white boxes, one of which contains a fetal heartbeat monitor and equipment Dr. Borley said she'll only need if Haymitch gets stuck. The other box, she says, has equipment she'll only need if I need an emergency caesarian.

She gives Johanna quick instructions for attaching the fetal heartbeat monitor to my belly, my own heartbeat monitor to my finger, and Johanna does it as quickly as she can. "All right, I need you to open that book right there," she nods her head towards a small book on the table. "And I need you to compare his heartbeat with what's healthy, got it?" Johanna nods, and I'm about to ask her why she can't do it, but then she says, "Listen, Katniss, your water hasn't broken yet, so I'm going to break it artificially. That's going to speed up the labor, but before I do that, I need to know if you want something for the pain."

"Of course she does," blurts out Peeta.

"It slows down labor significantly," says Borley. "So do you want a quick, painful delivery or a slow, less painful one?"

"Just get it over with," I almost scream at her. She nods and reaches inside of me. There's a peculiar sensation then, almost like I'm wetting myself, but I can't control it.

For the next forty-five minutes, Peeta and Johanna hold my hands while contractions take over my body again and again. With each new one that comes, it's more painful and longer-lasting. The one that pulls through my body now last a good ninety seconds and has me directing every foul word I know at Peeta. Johanna laughs heartily and squeezes my hand even harder before checking the baby's heart rate again.

"Cool cloth, Johanna," instructs Borley. Johanna goes to a nearby washroom and wets a cloth, swiping it across my forehead and letting it rest on my neck.

"I'm so sorry you're in pain, Katniss," says Peeta gently, stroking my sweaty face. His face is contorted, like my pain is physically hurting him. "I wish I could feel it instead of you."

"It isn't-" I grunt, my womb contracting again. I pause for a moment to scream through my clenched teeth before panting out, "It isn't the worst pain I've ever felt."

"No?" chuckles Peeta, his eyes filled with tears. Peeta can't stand to see me in pain, and suddenly, I feel guilty for swearing at him so much.

"No," I tell him, reaching the hand out that doesn't have a heart rate monitor attached and stroking his handsome, beautifully constructed face. "The acid rain beats this. Maybe even the burns from the first Games. Seeing you die was so much worse than this, it's practically painless," I tell him, grazing his lips with my thumb.

His eyes are brimming with tears, and he comes to kiss me, and before he can respond, Dr. Borley says, "Katniss, it's time to push, okay? You can do this. Johanna, you're in charge of keeping her left leg up. No, not straight up," she says, looking at Johanna's form. "Yes, like that. Knee bent."

Boggs pushes a chair under Peeta so he can hold my hand and be eye level with me, and he moves to go, but Peeta says, "No, Boggs, stay. You should stay in the room with us and watch the Square, so we know what's going on."

"All right," he says hesitantly, like he thinks he's encroaching on our privacy. Really, Boggs is probably the best person I've met in Thirteen, and I've come to rely on him. I don't mind that much, as long as he isn't watching Haymitch come out of me. His sat phone rings, and he picks it up from the floor where it ricocheted after he threw it against the wall earlier. Johanna is pulling my leg up towards my head when Boggs says, "Wait! Wait, Dr. Borley. Katniss has a phone call."

"It needs to be fast," says Borley. "This baby wants to come out now." Boggs holds the sat phone to my ear, since I'm still grasping Peeta's hands so tightly my knuckles turn bright white.

"Hello?" I choke out.

"Katniss?" my mother's voice comes through the phone, worried and scared, and I inhale sharply. I've never wanted my mother to be here more than I do now.

"Mom?" I say back. "Mom, I'm about to have the baby."

"I know, I know, Haymitch told us," she says, and she sounds teary. "Are you okay?"

"It hurts," I tell her.

"I know it does, honey," she says soothingly. "You're doing great. I'll put Prim on for you."

Prim's voice comes crackling through the phone a second later, and she says, "I wish I was there."

"Me, too, Prim," I tell her through gritted teeth. "I'll call you as soon as he's here. I love you."

"I love you, too," she says tearfully. The line goes dead in my ear and Boggs pockets the phone, resuming his position at the window.

Johanna's strong hand is pulling at my leg again, and Dr. Borley says, "Alright, Katniss, I need you to bear down."

When I do, I can't control the scream that comes out of my mouth. But Peeta's there, pushing my hair out of my face, eyes full of tears, soothing me with his soft words and perfect face.

"Ease up, Katniss," she says after a full minute of me pushing down so hard my vision blacks out around the edges. "In about two minutes, you're going to feel another contraction. When you do, push."

My eyes cling to Peeta, and his presence brings a steadiness to the chaos of the moment. His blue eyes, steadfast and strong, dull the pain in my body for a moment. His eyes tell me the same thing they always have. _ I love you. We're in this together._

Near blind from the pain, I whisper, "Together," to whim.

"Together, Katniss," he says back, his voice breaking on my name. "We're always going to be in this together, sweetheart. I love you."

"We have gunfire outside," announces Boggs. "The first train is rolling in."

"Who's firing?" asks Johanna, her free hand pushing the baby hairs away from my face. Looking back at me she says, "You can do this, Katniss. You can do this." I nod weakly at her as another contraction comes, and I let loose another choking, sobbing scream.

"Push, Katniss!" says Dr. Borley firmly. I do, sobbing the whole time, gripping Peeta's hands so hard I can't feel my fingers, Johanna's hand on my hair.

"Rebels are firing," answers Boggs. He glances back at me before echoing Johanna's sentiment. "You're a strong girl, Katniss. You've got this."

After three more rounds of pushing, Dr. Borley says, "Alright, I can see the head!"

"What?" asks Peeta, his face paling.

"You can look, if you want," offers Dr. Borley. Peeta moves next to her, and I'm a little embarrassed—which is absolutely stupid, because I'm pushing his child out of my body right now—but he just looks excited and full of love. He makes a sound that's somewhere between a laugh and a cry.

Johanna, stays by my side while Peeta looks, gripping my hand with her free one as the next contraction pulls Haymitch further down. "You've got this," she tells me, her voice strong and commanding. "You've got it."

From his place at my feet, Peeta reaches his hand towards me and I grasp it with the end of my fingers as I let loose another massive push, and there's almost an instantaneous sense of relief—it's like all of the pressure on my lower body is completely gone—before I hear a piercing cry. I open my eyes to see a smiling Dr. Borley handing a baby to Peeta.

"Oh my God," he says, his voice positively religious with devotion. Tears stream down his face and he cradles our bloody, messy infant in his arms. When I see Peeta's arms cradle our son's body lovingly, my heart swoops in my chest and I fall in love with him again, as if we are innocent children in an arena. "Oh my God, he's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen."

"Bring him here," I say, my voice throaty and hoarse. Peeta sets him on my breast, and as soon as my eyes fall on his face, I'm a goner.

I wish I could accurately explain all of the emotions that rush through me. Suddenly, it feels like my heart has grown to twice its size—full of love for this little person and full of love for his father—and suddenly, I realize all of my fears were stupid and childish. Because there is only one other person on the planet I could love as much as this small, crying child. And that other person is looking down at Haymitch like he's a blind man seeing color for the first time.

I don't realize I'm sobbing until my vision of my son blurs. When I look up at Peeta, he's crying, too, and he kisses me fiercely before his hands move to our son's mottled little head. "Look what we made," says Peeta through his tears. Peeta wasn't wrong when he said Haymitch was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen. Haymitch's head is covered with a mess of black curls, and his skin—though it's covered in blood and other matter—is somewhere between my olive and Peeta's creamy white. He doesn't open his eyes, so I can't tell whose color they are. But his mouth is shaped his exactly like his father's, and the set of his eyebrows looks just like mine. The shape of Peeta's face is present in the outline of my son's face, but he has my nose. Our son is the most perfect combination of our faces that it takes my breath away. His small, frail body is warm in my arms, and suddenly, I want to protect him from everything in the world.

Reluctantly—I've never been more reluctant to do something in my entire life—I tear my eyes from my son's face and turn to Johanna. "Do you want to meet your godson?" I ask her.

She doesn't say anything. She just nods, and moves closer to where I cradle him against my chest. "Careful with his head," says Dr. Borley. "You need to support his neck." I hand my son to Johanna, and she tucks him awkwardly into the crook of her arm.

"Wow," she breathes as she looks down at him. There is no hostility, no suspicion in her face—and I've never seen that before—instead, she looks vulnerable and raw, like all of her walls and safeguards have been torn down. Her free hand traces his tiny nose and small lips. Johanna bounces him, a little awkwardly, in her arms, and his cries die down a little. I'm so busy looking at him that I don't notice she's crying until one of her tears falls on his face. "I don't know how I can love someone I just met so much," she says in a choked voice, wiping the tears hastily from her face.

I miss him already, though he is only feet from me. Peeta goes to stand next to Johanna, looking down at his son with such a loving, protective expression on his face that it takes my breath away. I move to get up, but Dr. Borley pushes me back down. "You still need to push out the afterbirth," she tells me. "Don't worry. It'll be quick."

It is. It doesn't hurt nearly as bad as pushing Haymitch out, so I mostly just keep my eyes on him the entire time, watching how his little chest rises and falls, how his little cries start to die out the longer Johanna rocks him. Peeta takes him back after a little while, but Johanna is not far away. Instead of standing up, Peeta brings him to my side and lays him gently on his strong thighs. Haymitch's little finger grasps Peeta's index finger tightly.

"Looks like Gale and Madge are appealing to the loyalists that are coming out of the Nut," remarks Boggs, still looking out the window. "Some are surrendering."

A few minutes later, Dr. Borley says, "All right, I need to weigh him and measure him." Reluctantly, Peeta lets the doctor lift Haymitch away from him. She sets him on a small scale, and tell us, "Six pounds, nine ounces. I told you he was a big one." She measures him and says, "Yep. Nineteen and three-quarter inches."

"He's going to be tall," I say to Peeta, looking up at him with so much love I feel my heart can't bear it. Johanna positions herself in a chair next to the bed, her eyes clinging to Haymitch almost as much as ours.

Dr. Borley gives Haymitch a quick sponge bath, mostly to get off the remains of his time in my womb, and hands him back to me, a little diaper on his body.

"Katniss?" asks Boggs from the window. "Can I see him?"

"Oh, of course," I say, holding Haymitch out to him. As much as I want my son in my arms forever, I know that other people want to see him, too. I get to spend the rest of my life with the little treasure that Peeta and I created.

Boggs takes Haymitch from me expertly, like he's handled thousands of babies before. "That's a beautiful child," he remarks. He, like Johanna, runs his dark finger down Haymitch's face. "I'm not just saying that," Boggs says, throwing a smile our way. "He's beautiful."

"He'd have to be, with a mother like Katniss," says Peeta. I lean against his arm while Dr. Borley gently cleans the blood off of my lower half.

"You did good, Katniss," she tells me. "You didn't tear anything, which is surprising."

"Good," I say, though I don't really want to hear about what people tear open when they give birth. I'm sore down there, but as the contractions peter out a little, I find I can adjust myself in bed.

"You should feed him," suggests Dr. Borley. She takes Haymitch from Boggs's arms and places him at my breast. I look up at her, panicked, because I don't know what to do. "Easy, Katniss. Babies are meant to do this. It'll be fine."

Again, she's right. His mouth finds my breast and he pulls eagerly. While he eats, I feel a little tug in my womb. I run my fingers gently through his black hair, and brush my finger lightly down his face. As I watch him, I experience a peculiar sensation. It's like my heart—part of my heart, I note, glancing back at Peeta, who's watching his son with the same adoration as I am—has jumped outside of my body and lives in this small baby.

After he's eaten his fill, I detach him from my breast, and burp him against a cloth Dr. Borley sets against my legs. When he finally settles into sleep, Boggs pulls out a small device that looks like a computer.

"Your families want to see him," explains Boggs. "Before the propo is streamed."

"All right," says Peeta, glancing at me questioningly. His hands reach towards Haymitch, and I nod. I don't mind sharing our son with Peeta. Boggs taps a few buttons and Haymitch, my mom, and Peeta's dad are crowded on the screen. Peeta holds up our son, and says with so much bursting pride, "Paula, Dad, Haymitch, meet your grandson, Haymitch Mason Everdeen-Mellark."

"Oh my," my mother begins, full eyes beginning to leak. "Look at him! He's so perfect, Katniss. Your dad would've been so proud."

"Wow," says Peeta's dad, leaning in towards the screen so he can see Haymitch Junior better. "He's a good looking kid." But his eyes, too, are full of tears. Finally, Haymitch Senior settles his eyes on his namesake. His reaction, I wasn't expecting at all.

Our old, rude, alcoholic mentor breaks down into tears. Not quiet tears; big, racking sobs that maybe he's held in for twenty-five years. I know that our son has broken down his defenses entirely when he finally chokes out, "Give him a kiss from his grandpa."

When our parents are done spilling their tears, my sister and Peeta's brothers file in after them. Prim beats Peeta's brothers to the screen, and her face is so close that I can only see her nose. She mumbles something incoherent before she lets her tears spill over. Farley and Meetchum make proud comments about how handsome he is before moving out of the way so Prim can see him again.

Finally, Haymitch and my mom come back on the screen. Their tears are both still falling, but Haymitch is in better control of his than he was before.

"Katniss, Peeta," he begins. "Thank you for giving that beautiful child my name. I know I don't say it often, but I love you two. Like you're my own kids."

"You've never said that," I say. Peeta chuckles a little, adjusting Haymitch Junior a little. Already Peeta is attuned to Haymitch Junior's needs.

"Well, I do. And it means everything to me that you named your son after me," he says.

"We love you, too, Haymitch," says Peeta. "And we love you, Paula."

My mother tells me, "I'm so proud of you, Katniss. And you, Peeta. Get back home as soon as possible so we can hold that boy."

The screen goes blank soon after, and it feels like my heart is about to burst open with all of the love I feel. For my perfect son, who is truly the most beautiful thing in the world. For my husband, who I love more than I thought possible. For Johanna, my best friend and son's godmother, who I know will protect him—and us—until her dying breath. For Prim and Haymitch and my mother and Peeta's family, who are truly a blessing. Even for Boggs, who stands to the side with an expression of paternal pride. The only people that are missing are Finnick, Gale, and Madge.

"Are Gale and Madge done speaking to the loyalists?" I ask Boggs, who's watching the Square with a furrowed brow.

"I think so," says Boggs. "More of them are surrendering, anyway. I'll get them in."

After Boggs swings the door open, Cressida and Pollux are back, asking to film us for just a few minutes. "Yeah, just don't show the footage until Gale and Madge have seen him first," I say.

"Not an issue," she says. "We'll need about twenty minutes to cut it together anyway."

"Alright," I say. "Q and A?" I ask her.

"Fine with me," she answers. The red light turns on, and she says, "Tell us who this is, Katniss."

I look over at Peeta, and he smile at me softly, his eyes telling me that he loves me so much his heart is going to burst with the power of it, and I say, "This is our son." Haymitch is still settled in Peeta's arms, his little chest rising and falling with fitful sleep, and I can't take my eyes off of him. Pollux steps closer and the camera angles down so he can get a good shot at my son's face.

"His name is Haymitch Mason Everdeen-Mellark," says Peeta proudly.

"Tell me about his names, Peeta," says Cressida.

"Well, Haymitch has been like a father to both of us," explains Peeta. "And he's saved our lives, more than once. We wanted to honor him. His middle name, Mason," says Peeta, and I reach my hand out to Johanna and pull her closer. "Is after my wife's best friend and one of the best people I've ever known, Johanna Mason."

I add, "Johanna is strong and brave and loyal; everything I want my son, Haymitch, to grow up to be. That's why we gave him the middle name 'Mason,' after my best friend and my son's godmother."

"Let's get some shots of Johanna with the baby," says Cressida quietly. Peeta deftly hands Haymitch over to Johanna, whose eyes travel all over my small son's face.

"How do you feel, Johanna, now that your godson is here?"

"I didn't know it was possible to love someone so much," she says, looking down at his face before glancing at me. "And I'm honored to be godmother to my best friend's son. Absolutely honored," she finishes, her face still completely vulnerable and un-Johanna-like.

"Who's his godfather?" asks Cressida.

"My cousin, Gale," I say. "He should be in here in a minute. He was filming in District 2's Square."

Like clockwork, Gale and Madge come rushing through the open door of the room. "What-Boggs just told us to come quickly, what'd we-" Gale's words stop short when he sees the bundle in Johanna's arms.

"I'm a mom," I tell him, grinning so wide I feel my face has split in half.

"Congratulations," says Madge, coming over to hug me gently. "Do you feel alright?"

"A little sore, but yes," I tell her. The red light is still flashing and Gale is rooted to the spot, still staring at the infant in Johanna's arms. I wonder if there's some hesitancy, maybe because of lingering feelings, but I still say, "Gale, go meet your godson. It's alright."

Johanna shifts awkwardly, putting her hand underneath Haymitch's little neck, and hands him to Gale, godmother to godfather. "Careful," she hisses defensively. "Support his head."

As soon as my son is settled into Gale's arms, Gale looks down at him, a careful expression on his face. But soon, he says, "Wow. Wow. He's just-he's-wow."

Madge laughs a throaty laugh and walks over to where Gale stands, cradling Haymitch, and says, "He's beautiful, you two. Really beautiful."

"Yeah," agrees Gale. There's choked, suppressed emotion in his voice as he studies my son's face, and he says, "He looks like Katniss."

"Just his coloring," I say.

"My godson," breathes Gale. "Wow."

"Let me hold him," says Madge impatiently. For the next twenty minutes, our son is passed around from person to person, and Cressida asks Dr. Borley the details of his birth.

"For the record, when exactly was he born?" asks Cressida.

"Haymitch Junior was born at 8:45 P.M. on October 27," says Dr. Borley calmly into the camera. "He weighed in at six pounds, nine ounces, and is nineteen and three-quarters inches long."

"I'm so tired," I tell Peeta, my voice barely audible.

"Sleep," he tells me, pressing a gentle kiss against my forehead. I lean into him, needing to feel his warmth, needing to be closer to him, and he whispers, "I love you more than anything," as I let the tendrils of sleep curl into me and take me.

PB

Haymitch cries incessantly as set him against my breast, half-asleep. His cries quiet as soon as he starts feeding, and I want desperately to sleep for twenty-four hours straight. But I can't, so I slap myself a couple of times and look at the clock. It's four o'clock in the morning, so Haymitch and I have been sleeping for what? More than six hours? I don't know very much about babies, but I was under the impression that babies woke up all the time during the night.

I'll have to ask my mom about it. Peeta comes in from the bathroom with a glass of water, and I drink it down carefully. Johanna's asleep in her chair, and Peeta crawls into the wide bed with me. Peeta woke up as soon as the baby started whimpering, but realized pretty quickly that the baby was hungry. So he had to wake me up. He still looks like he feels guilty.

"It's fine," I whisper. "He was hungry. He slept for a long time, anyway."

"I changed his diaper," murmurs Peeta, kissing my shoulder. Haymitch still pulls at my breast greedily.

"Thank you," I tell him. We both look down at our small son's face, and I'm startled to see that his eyes are open.

"What color is that?" asks Peeta curiously.

"Gray?" I say, leaning in closer to see examine the color of his eyes. Peeta switches on a small lamp. "No, it's blue, I think."

"I was going to say gray," Peeta disagrees.

"Hopefully he'll open his eyes during the day so we can see better," I say. "God, he's perfect."

"Yes," breathes Peeta. "He's perfect."

"I was so stupid to be afraid," I say. "Loving him is so natural it feels like breathing."

"Now I guess there are two people I'd die for," chuckles Peeta. He runs his finger down the soft baby skin of Haymitch's belly. "I never thought I'd love someone as much as you, but I was wrong."

"I love you both the same," I say.

Peeta laughs. "Me too, Katniss."

"I have a family now," I say. "It's so strange."

"Our family," he adds. "I'm a father." He laughs with happiness, and I raise my lips to meet his. He brings his hand around to the back of my neck as we kiss, and after we break apart he whispers, "You're still going to be the death of me."

Haymitch pulls away from my breast then, and gives a small, feeble whimper. I am about to burp him when Peeta wiggle his fingers at me. "Please, Katniss, let me."

I relent and hand our son to Peeta, draping the cloth over his leg. I turn on my side a little, leaning my head on Peeta's arm, and study the lines of my child's face. I fall asleep listening to the sound of Peeta's heart beating, the babyish noises our son makes, and the quiet hum of an old mountain air that rises and falls from Peeta's chest, effortless as breathing.

PB


	42. Chapter 41

** I don't own the Hunger Games. If you have any comments or suggestions, leave me a review!**

Haymitch wakes from his fitful sleep just as the hovercraft is moving into the hollows of Thirteen. His short, blustering cries make me feel desperate and helpless, but Dr. Borley told me that it isn't safe for him to be taken out of his travel cube until we land.

Beetee, before he went to Two, invented it for Haymitch in the event that's he'd have to travel by hovercraft. It's small, just large enough to cradle his body as he grows in the next few months, and is made out of some clear material that apparently is fireproof, bulletproof, climate-controlled, virus resistant, maintains a steady air pressure no matter the altitude, and keeps the air at breathable level for an infant. Beetee also made it fingerprint accessible, so the only people who can open it are those whose fingerprints are coded into the system. Haymitch has barely stirred the entire ride from Two to Thirteen; he either slept or stared up at us with his strange, grayish-blue eyes.

I spent most of the ride sleeping, if I'm honest. In the two days we spent in two before Dr. Borley cleared me for travel, I slept for maybe seven hours total. Haymitch isn't a fussy infant, not at all. In fact, the only time he cries is when he's hungry, and already he's sleeping in long stretches during the night. I just didn't sleep because I couldn't tear my eyes away from him.

Peeta is exhausted, too. He's spent the entire time since Haymitch was born doting on him and walking him around the Justice Building of Two, talking to him like he could understand Peeta's soft, gentle words. Before our son was born, I didn't think I could love Peeta any more than I already did. But I was wrong; I knew I was wrong the moment I saw Peeta cradle our baby for the first time, tears running down his face.

As soon as I hear him cry, I jerk out of the sleep I've fallen into on Peeta's shoulder. His eyes are open and he's waving his little fists around in the air. I want to pull him out of his cube right away, but Dr. Borley gives me a stern look and I let my hands fall to my sides. His skin is starting to turn a little; it isn't quite the olive skin I have, but it's a far cry from Peeta's fair, rosy complexion. His eyelashes are magnificent; they're long and thick like Peeta's, but black like mine. Though I've never been particularly keen on babies, my son is by far the most beautiful child I've ever seen.

Two—as well as the other three districts we hadn't taken before I shipped out—has fallen. The rebels are going to start gearing up and training for the invasion of the Capitol, which Coin says is due to happen in the next two to three months. Plutarch says that rebels from the districts are going to receive some additional training, and all of the wounded need to be taken care of. There's also the question of strategy, which is apparently not a one-day thing. He said it takes a while. Whatever the reason, I'm sort of glad, because I can spend some time with my family before I'm sent away to the Capitol.

The hovercraft shudders to a halt and immediately, Peeta is placing his thumb on the scanner and the cube springs open.

"Hey, little guy," he says softly. Peeta holds Haymitch up to his face and kisses every inch of skin his can reach before settling the baby into his strong arms. Haymitch settles down a little, but he still makes fussy little noises. "He's hungry."

"Probably needs to be changed, too," I sigh. "I'll do it when we get home."

"Let Johanna," says Peeta. "There are those bottles of milk you pumped. We should go see our families." Because I will be spending a large portion of the next month or two training, I've been given a breast pump so that Peeta or Johanna or whoever is watching my son can feed him without interrupting my training. It's a weird, awkward process, but it works, I suppose.

"Yeah, it's fine," says Johanna.

"Give him to me, then," I tell Peeta. We walk out of the hovercraft and into the mostly abandoned hangar. "Just for a minute."

Peeta passes him over to me, and I bounce him in my arms and rub his little back. His little mouth stretches into a yawn, which makes me laugh. "You're tired, aren't you?" I croon to him. "I bet you are. It's exhausting business, isn't it, being a baby?" I lean down and press my lips to the soft skin of his forehead, inhaling the smell of him. His black hair is thick and whorls in to a mess of waves on the top of his head, like Peeta's. I gently stroke his long eyelashes, kiss him one more time, and pass him to Johanna. Peeta hands the big bag that's been slung over his shoulder to Johanna.

"We won't be long," I promise. "We're just going to say hi to our families and bring them back to our place so they can meet him."

"It's okay," says Johanna, putting her pinky in Haymitch's mouth. He starts sucking on it immediately. Her voice raises a little in pitch and she says, "I missed my little Mason, didn't I?"

Johanna, only hours after he was born, ditched Haymitch's first name and started referring to him exclusively as Mason or Mason. Gale and Madge have gotten into the habit, too, probably because it makes it easier to differentiate between Haymitch Jr. and Haymitch Sr. I don't mind.

Peeta kisses his son's forehead gently before taking my hand and pulling me out of the hangar. Pulling me close to his side, he kisses me on the temple and says, "You're already the best mom. Did you know that?"

"We'll see," I say. "You'll be the better parent, no doubt." Peeta laughs and pauses in the hallway so he can put his hand firmly on my neck and pull me in for a kiss.

"I love you," he tells me. "More than ever."

"Me, too," I admit. "I thought I'd hit the upward limit of loving you. Turns out I was wrong."

"Tell me about it," he chuckles, wrapping one of his arms around my shoulders. We get into an elevator, and after the doors close, Peeta adds, "I miss him already."

"I know," I sigh. "I miss him every time I can't see him. Are we supposed to feel this clingy and desperate?"

"Probably not," guesses Peeta. "Probably our trauma from the Games at work." The elevator stops at level 17 and we clamber out. We walk in silence, never letting go of each other, until we reach my mother's compartment. Peeta knocks and slides the door open. Prim is hugging me only seconds later.

"Hi! I missed you so much," she gushes.

"I missed you, little duck," I tell her.

"Where is he? I want to see him," she says immediately.

"Johanna took him home," Peeta tells her. He hugs my little sister and tousles her hair. "You're going to love him. He's an amazing little person."

"Hey, Mom," I say, ignoring my husband and sister's chatter. I walk over to her and hug her more tightly than I ever have before. Maybe it's because I'm a mom now, and I understand what she feels for us. But I wrap my arms around her like a vice, and say, "I love you."

"I love you too, Katniss," she tells me, sounding a little teary. "Can I go meet my grandson?"

"Yeah, of course," I say. "We just need to stop by and get Peeta's family. And Haymitch. Oh, and Finnick. Probably Cinna, too."

"Haymitch is already here," says a loud, obnoxious voice from the door. He grins at us and I hug him. He looks happier than he has in a long time. "Heard you guys landed."

"Yeah," I say, letting go of him. "Want to come see him?"

"Sure," says Haymitch. "The Mellarks and Finnick aren't far behind me."

We make our way to the elevators, and my mom asks how I'm feeling. I tell her that I'm sore and every time I sneeze, I pee my pants, but otherwise fine. My mom never lets go of my arm, and I can tell that she's missing my father badly today. No doubt she's wishing they could be meeting their grandson together. I let myself think about him for a moment. Would he be proud of me?

I don't know if he'd be proud of me for the things I've done; killing people and inadvertently causing the death of most of my district. That's a mixed bag. But I think he'd be proud of my son; I think he'd be proud of the life I created. _We _created, I amend, looking at Peeta, whose arm is around my little sister.

Though I miss my father so badly it hurts, I can't be sad today. Not when my parents—my mom and Haymitch, that is—are going to look down at my son's face. Not when Prim is talking excitedly about teaching him how to heal and how to identify medicinal plants. Not when Peeta's face is glowing with pride when he speaks about our son.

When Peeta slides our compartment door open, there's a small crowd waiting for us. Johanna is handing Haymitch Jr. to Cinna, and Gale and Madge watch my son's jerky movements closely with a look of amazement on their faces. Effie is here, too, chattering on about whether Haymitch Jr. looks more like me or Peeta. Haymitch Jr. isn't asleep; he's taking in the scene around him with cloudy, confused eyes. Like he's wondering why all of these people are so fascinated with him. My arms feel cold without him in them, but I remind myself that I will spend the rest of my life with him. I shouldn't be selfish today, not when there are so many people who already adore him.

"He doesn't look like Katniss," disagrees Cinna. When I shut the door behind me, he looks up at the sound. "Except for his coloring. I think he favors Peeta." He grins up at me, his hands holding my son a little awkwardly. I notice that Cinna's already changed my baby out of the little gray onesie and into a forest green ensemble that covers him from the neck down. "Katniss? Do you want him?"

"Just for a second," I tell him, settling myself on the couch next to Johanna. Cinna hands my baby over to me, and I run my eyes down his face, taking silent inventory of his features, making sure he's all right. Seeing him again breathes new air into my lungs, and I kiss his forehead before holding him out to Prim. "Your nephew, Prim."

She reaches out with slim, confident hands, and tucks him into her arms. She doesn't say anything, just looks at him. Her eyes get teary, but she doesn't cry or make any noise. She just rocks him to and fro, her eyes steady on his babyish face. Finally, she says, without looking away from him, "He's perfect."

"So's his mother," says Peeta. I catch his eye and he's looking at me with such adoration and devotion it sends warmth flooding through my veins.

"His dad, too," I add, smiling at him in the way I only do when we're alone, though we're surrounded by people. I couldn't care less.

"Here, Mom," says Prim, reluctantly shifting Haymitch so she can hand him over to my mother. "I don't want to hog him."

"Oh," says my mom a little breathlessly. She smiles when she takes him into her arms, happiness etched into every line of her face. "I think Cinna's right. He looks more like Peeta."

"It's probably too early to tell," says Peeta indulgently, though I disagree. He has my eyebrows and my nose, but that's about it. It is too early to tell whose eye's he'll have, but mostly, he looks like his father.

After a few minutes of this, my son is passed over to Haymitch Senior, who is clearly fighting to stay composed. Haymitch stretches his legs out on the floor and lays his namesake down on his thighs. He, like Prim, doesn't say anything. But he doesn't need to; the look on Haymitch's face is telling. It's similar to when I saw Johanna with Haymitch Jr. the first time. Where a sullen, hostile expression usually rests, a new, vulnerable, raw face lies. Like the walls he's spent years building have crumbled, and he is completely open and raw for the first time.

When Peeta's family arrives, my son is passed back and forth. He is stared at and adored, he is talked about and cooed over. Haymitch, Prim, and Johanna both insist they hold him again, and I am afraid Johanna and Haymitch will come to blows over it. But they don't, because Johanna backs down and concedes eventually, saying, "Since I get to live with him, I _guess_ you can have him, Haymitch."

Johanna and Meetchum watch each other with furtive eyes, like they don't want to be caught staring at each other. But there's a certain unmistakable softness in her eyes when Meetchum—very awkwardly, like he thinks he'll break Haymitch Jr.—holds my son in his large hands, too afraid to cradle the baby in his arms.

Gale is holding Haymitch Jr. when there's a light rapping at the door. I move to get up, wincing because I'm still sore, but Peeta waves me back down. Our tiny compartment is packed with people, and I'm not sure anyone else will fit. But Finnick's pale and handsome face peeks through the crack and I have to grin.

"I heard there was a party," says Finnick with a jaunty grin.

"Come in," says Peeta, opening the door wide. I'm more than a little wary when I see the light brown hand of Annie Cresta attached to Finnick's. I don't think I'm afraid of her anymore, but I am nowhere near comfortable enough with her to let her hold my son. Peeta looks a little hesitant, too. But he doesn't say anything.

Peeta goes to Gale and lifts Haymitch Jr. out of Gale's arms, his strong hands sure and steady. He motions for Finnick to sit down next to me, and I scoot a little so I can give Finnick enough room. When Peeta sets Haymitch down in Finnick's arms, his little legs are kicking a little, but he doesn't cry. He just looks at Finnick curiously with his strange eyes.

"He looks just like Katniss," says Finnick. I see Annie hovering a little, and she looks at my son's face hungrily. Finnick lets Haymitch wraps his little fingers around his finger, and comments, "He's strong."

"He doesn't really look like me," I say, leaning over so I can stare at his face. In this light, his eyes look more gray than blue. I touch his soft black hair gently and run my thumb along his forehead. "See?" I say, touching his jawline. "His face is shaped like Peeta's." I move my fingers to his mouth. "His mouth, too."

"Well, in any case, he's one of the best-looking babies I've ever seen," decides Finnick. "Can I hold him a little while longer, Katniss?"

Who am I to deny Finnick? Finnick, who saved Peeta over and over again? Finnick, who got captured so we could get out of the arena? Finnick, who was still trying to protect us while he was being tortured in the Capitol? I can't deny Finnick anything. So I say, "Yeah, Finnick, go ahead."

Conversation picks up in my compartment, but I don't listen to much of it. Peeta is sitting by his dad, telling Fennel about our son's birth. How loud the gunfire was while I was pushing. How Johanna had to assist Dr. Borley. Eventually, he pulls out the little hand and footprints Dr. Borley did while we were still in Two.

I lean my head against Johanna's shoulder, and she takes my hand. Finnick is talking in gibberish to my son, playing with his little fingers and feet. Annie hesitantly—she looks at me for permission first, and I nod—runs her long, brown finger down the soft skin of my son's arm.

"He's really beautiful, Katniss," she says, voice gravelly as ever. "Congratulations."

"Thanks," I say. Trying to alleviate any tension that exists between us, I joke, "He probably won't compare to the kids you and Finnick will have, though."

I don't mean it; of course I don't mean it. To me, Haymitch is the most beautiful child in Panem. But everyone laughs, and Annie's hand moves to my son's face. If I'm being perfectly honest, and I know I'm blinded by bias, Haymitch Junior truly a handsome baby. His skin isn't mottled and uneven like most newborns; it's creamy and smooth, dotted with a few freckles. His little mouth, shaped just like Peeta's, is full and pink. The longer he has his eyes open, the more I decide that his eyes are shaped like mine, and his eyelashes are beautifully long and full. His small mouth opens in a yawn and Finnick chuckles. Haymitch's eyes fall closed and he makes a small, babyish sound that bring a smile to my face.

Johanna pulls a blanket out of the bag at her feet and spread it across Finnick's lap. Finnick sets him down and swaddles him in the blanket before hoisting the baby back in his arms. When my eyes search the room for Peeta, I find him sitting against a wall, his eyes entirely focused on our son. It's a funny thing, love. During the 74th Games, I didn't expect that I would love Peeta with enough force to take my breath away. I didn't expect my heart to seize up whenever I see him. I didn't think any of that would happen, but it did. When I was pregnant, I didn't expect to be so taken with my son so quickly. I certainly didn't expect—if I'm being honest—that I would love my son as much as I love Peeta. But I do, and the amount of love I feel for the both of them is so overwhelming I'm not sure how to express it. I'd never anticipated that I could or would lead a life filled with so much love and happiness and friendship. Now, I have a husband and a son and best friends and a room full of people that I love.

Johanna seems to be thinking the same thing, because she says, "It's amazing that so much love and happiness can exist in the middle of a war."

"That's the whole point," says Finnick immediately. "This is everything we're fighting for." His eyes wander down to my sleeping son, safe and happy in his arms, and Finnick's face softens. He's quiet for a moment, then he says, "You have to let me babysit, Katniss."

I laugh, because the intensity of the moment has been broken. "As soon as I start training, Peeta's going to have him during the day."

"Oh, shoot," says Finnick. "I forgot. I annoyed that Coin woman until she said yes to me training. I told her I wasn't just going to sit here while everyone else I knew was going to fight."

"That means we'll be training together," I say, grinning at him. "While Peeta and Johanna and everybody else get to hang out with my kid."

"Here's what we'll do," says Finnick. "After we get done training every day, we'll kidnap him so no one else can see him. Problem solved." Everyone laughs, and conversation in the room resumes.

"Listen, Finnick," I say in a low voice. This is a morbid and depressing subject, but I've been thinking about it for a couple of weeks. No one pays any attention to us. "You know that Gale and Johanna are his godparents. But if all four of us die in the Capitol, I want you to take him."

"Backup godfather, huh?" asks Finnick, but his smile is a little rueful. Not because of me, but because he knows there's a good chance that some of us will die. "Of course I will, Katniss. Why are you telling me this?"

"I just . . . have a bad feeling," I say. I don't tell him the suspicions Peeta roused in me when he made that errant comment about Coin using us. I don't tell him that I suspect that we are just pawns that could easily be disposed of as soon as we aren't useful anymore, or as soon as we do something outside of the little box Coin has built for us.

It isn't that I hate her, or that I think she's like Snow. But I do think that power and manipulation are heady tools, and because of who I am and how I've been raised, I'm automatically suspicious of anyone in power.

"Can I talk to you about it later?" I ask Finnick. Our friendship, since he was rescued, has been renewed and it stronger than it ever has been. I've learned that Johanna was right about Finnick; he is steady, quick, and a sound voice of reason. That's why I want to talk to him about my suspicions. "Just promise me that if anything happens to us or Johanna and Gale, you'll take our son back to Twelve and raise him there."

"Of course, Katniss," says Finnick.

"You know, Peeta and I almost made you godfather," I tell him. I look down at my son and take inventory of his features again. Reassure myself that he's all right.

"Why didn't you?" he asks.

"Because we didn't want to make you move to Twelve if we died," I tell him. "After everything you've been through, it didn't seem fair to ask you to sacrifice more."

"You know I wouldn't have minded," says Finnick.

"I know," I say. "But you deserve everything in the world, Finnick. You deserve to have whatever you want. I didn't want to take that from you."

"I know," he sighs. "I'm glad I met you, Katniss."

"Me, too," I admit. "Who'd have known some of my best friends would be cold-blooded murderers?"

At that, Finnick laughs, but quickly quiets himself because he doesn't want to wake Haymitch up. "Listen, I know you don't trust her," begins Finnick in a low voice. I glance up at Annie, who's staring off into the distance with such intensity I squint to try and see what she sees. "But Annie's good with kids. She'd babysit if you needed her to."

Annie's light, catlike eyes are still focused on something I can't make out—something deep inside of her mind, probably—but she looks vulnerable. While she's still shockingly lovely, she doesn't seem as guarded as she usually does. She doesn't intimidate me like she normally does

"You really love her," I say, still looking at Annie. She doesn't turn her head; she doesn't even blink.

"Yeah," agrees Finnick. "More than anything."

"Annie," I say. She doesn't move.

"Ann, what're you seeing?" asks Finnick, setting a hand on her thigh. She starts a little bit as his touch.

"Nothing bad," she says dreamily. She looks down at Finnick and they smile at each other with such love it's almost embarrassing to look at. Her long, slender fingers push a tendril of Finnick's hair back from his forehead. "Did you need something?"

I speak up and say, "I wanted to see if you want to hold him." I nod at my sleeping infant.

"Oh," she says. "If it's all right with you."

"It's fine," I say. "Just switch places with Finnick."

She does, and I set my son in her arms. Immediately, she adjusts him so she is cradling with one arm. Her other hand goes to his back, where she scratches lightly with her long fingers. She looks down at him with a smile that doesn't seem at all mad, and begins to hum an unfamiliar song in her low, gravelly voice.

I look at Finnick. He's watching her like she's the only thing that exists. Like she alone is responsible for the creation of the world.

When I look around the room, searching for Peeta, I see that he's looking at me the same way.

**Page Break and Author's Note: I didn't change the baby's name! I just figured that if there were two Haymitch's running around, people would eventually start calling the baby by a nickname. I was trying to keep it realistic. So, from now on, the baby will mostly be referred to as 'Mason,' his middle name, even by Katniss. I have a friend who's named after her aunt, and almost no one calls her by her actual first name. Just tryin' to keep it realistic.**

Finnick and I are pulled out of training by Boggs on our seventh day, thirty minutes before we're supposed to break for lunch. We're both groaning and sweating so much we're glistening from head to toe. It's been two weeks since we came back to Thirteen with Haymitch. Three days after we arrived, a doctor gave me a series of shot that moved all of my muscles back the way they were before I got pregnant. It was excruciating—I had to resist taking a hit of morphling for the entire four days—but my body feels normal. Lithe. The same way it did when I used to hunt in the woods of Twelve.

Still, the five mile run we just finished is making my muscles scream in protest. Finnick is panting and I know he feels the same way. After all, he was in captivity for three months. He was tortured. But neither of us complain, because we're both desperate to finish our training in time to go to the Capitol.

"What's going on?" I pant. I pull the bottom of my tank top up and wipe the sweat off of my forehead.

"Coin wants you two in Command," he replies. Before I can ask, he says, "Baby's fine, don't worry. Gale has him."

"Gale?" I ask, taking a drink of water. I splash some on my hands, rub it on my forehead, and hand the bottle to Finnick. "Why?"

"Peeta and Johanna are in Command, too," he explains. "Since your mother and sister are working, I handed Mason off to Gale."

I want to groan. Almost everyone—including me and Peeta—has gotten into Johanna's habit of calling our son Mason, because Haymitch Senior is around so much that it gets confusing. Haymitch Senior and Annie Cresta, oddly enough, are the only ones who call Mason by his proper first name. Annie blatantly refuses to call him anything but Haymitch. I try to, sometimes, but it's much easier to call him Mason.

"Where's he?" I ask.

"I think he was going to take Mason down to the hummingbird room," answers Boggs.

"All right," I say. I try to shove down my worry, because truthfully, Mason is fine with Gale. As much as I'm loathe to admit it, my son doesn't really _need_ me. He has a cluster of people who will drop everything and come running if he so much as cries. It's me who needs him. Every time he's out of my sight, I'm thinking about him incessantly, worrying and tense. I'm constantly jealous that Peeta gets to spend all day with him. "Do you know if Gale fed him?"

"Peeta fed him before I dropped him off with Gale," says Boggs. "He wants me to let you know he packed enough milk to feed Mason for a week."

"Okay," I say. I nudge Finnick with my hip. "How are you feeling, Odair?"

"Like a train hit me," he groans.

"Same," I say. "You'd think we'd be in better shape, considering we're victors."

"Torture and pregnancy will do that to you," he laughs. Boggs looks at Finnick like he's insane, and that just makes me laugh more.

After we get inside, I ask Finnick, "How's Annie? She didn't come by last night to see the baby."

Oddly enough, since we got back, Annie's been stopping by every night to hold Mason and hum to him in her strange voice. We aren't really friends, but an uneasy companionship has formed. We almost never speak, but sit in silence while she holds my child. The only time she talks is to ask about him: what he did that day, how he's eating, if he's sleeping alright.

"She had a bad night," says Finnick. The corners of his mouth turn down. "A lot of flashbacks. When I got home, she was on the floor, screaming into a pillow. Tried to choke me when I pulled her out of it," he says, trying to laugh. He pulls back the collar of his shirt to reveal a purple bruise. I can see the shape of her long fingers.

"Sorry," I say. "Does that happen often?"

"No, not really," he says. "Her mental state has gotten a lot better in the last couple of years. Her flashbacks are barely ever bad enough for her to react violently."

"She must be strong," I say neutrally. Finnick is a big guy. It must take a lot of strength to get the upper hand on him.

This time, Finnick does laugh. "She is," he agrees. The expression on his face is a bit happier when he says, "I taught her how to fight. Biggest mistake I've ever made."

Remembering what Finnick said about the culture in Four, I try not to be judgmental. It isn't that I don't like Annie. She's fine, when she's sane. I'm just uneasy around her when she starts to retreat into her own mind. Peeta is with us most nights when Annie comes around, but when he isn't, I have to answer her "real or not real" questions. It makes me a little uncomfortable. Two nights ago, she asked me, eyes clenched shut so tightly it's like they disappeared, "Is it real that my head is on the ground?"

Mostly, she's harmless. Sometimes, when she does get to talking—which isn't often—she's even pretty funny. I always have to fight the urge to ask about her Games, because Finnick warned me that mentioning her Games is a massive trigger for her flashbacks. She makes an errant comment about them sometimes, something small like when she was talking about Four and she said, "Yeah, my arena was a ruined city. Some of the buildings looked like our Justice Building in Four."

But I never ask. She never asks about my Games, either. We sit in companionable silence most of the time, and she sings strange songs to my son in her strange voice.

"Anyway," Finnick continues. "Neither she or I wanted her around the baby in case she had another flashback."

"Good thinking," I say under my breath. Boggs hears me, but he doesn't say anything. Soon, we get to Command and Boggs slides the door open for us. I'm surprised to see that everyone around the table—with the exception of Coin and Plutarch—is a victor. Beetee, Haymitch, Chaff, Johanna, Peeta, and even Annie are here. Boggs settles into a chair in the back of the room.

"What's going on?" I ask, embarrassed that I'm so sweaty. I sit down between Peeta and Johanna and kiss Peeta quickly on the mouth.

"We're discussing a propo suggestion," says Coin warmly. I narrow my eyes at her. Finnick and I have talked about Coin extensively, and he agrees with me. Though she's outwardly very nice and polite to all of us, he is suspicious of her as well. He, like Peeta and me, think that she doesn't really care about us past what we can do for the revolution. But neither of us can find a solid, quantifiable reason why we don't trust her. So we play nice.

"As you all know, we're gearing up for the invasion of the Capitol, which is slated to begin in a little over a month and a half," begins Plutarch, consulting his notes. "Finnick, Katniss, Johanna, and Peeta are soldiers in the rebel army. Haymitch and Beetee are members of our high command. Chaff and Annie were granted clemency to recover from physical and mental trauma. You are all important, as we've demonstrated, to this war effort, even those of you who aren't training or working. But I believe there's a way we can use all of you to boost morale and get the rebels ready for the invasion."

"What's that?" asks Peeta.

"We're going to take you all on a quick Tour of the districts," says Plutarch. I want to get up and leave. Another messed-up kind of Victory Tour? Really? Being paraded in front of the cameras for the benefit of others? My favorite. Plutarch sees me rolling my eyes and says, "Not like that, Katniss. You already agreed that you and Peeta would take your son to Districts Seven, Eight, and Eleven. The rest of the victors will join you, you'll speak to them briefly, and come back to Thirteen."

"What do you mean, 'speak to them?'" asks Johanna scathingly. I can tell she hates this idea as much as I do.

"Remind them why they're fighting," says Plutarch simply. "You won't have to give any long speeches, really. Just a few sentences, a few hellos, then you're out of there."

"What about my training?" I ask indignantly. "And Finnick's?"

"You're only touring three districts. Three districts in one day," says Plutarch, exasperated. "That's all."

"Won't the other districts be upset that we didn't see them?" asks Finnick.

"We're filming a propo with all of you that we'll broadcast, alongside with footage of your visits," explains Plutarch. "We just want a show of solidarity. Eight victors, standing together, fighting against oppression."

"Sounds like good television," deadpans Finnick. At Plutarch's withering look, I try to make my snort of laughter into a cough. He doesn't buy it.

"We're leaving in a week," says Plutarch. "You'll need to be at Hangar 2 at 4 A.M. next Monday. We're going to Seven first, then Eight, and we're ending with Eleven."

"Additionally, everyone but Finnick and Katniss be filming propos today," says Coin.

"Why not us?" I ask.

"You two need to get back to training after lunch," says Coin. "These propos will be your own personal message to your home districts," explains Coin. Her words are like a dull blow to the chest. I have no home district anymore. "They'll be broadcast all over Panem, however. We haven't managed to figure out a way to broadcast to individual districts."

"What about Peeta and Haymitch?" I ask indignantly.

"Haymitch will be working with Plutarch on production strategy," Coin tells me. "Peeta will be addressing the nation as a whole." She glances down at her notes and reads off, "Beetee, you're slated for filming at 1:30. Ms. Cresta, you're up at 2:00. Ms. Mason, you're at 2:30. Chaff, you're on at 3:00. Mr. Mellark, you'll be up after they're finished. Everyone who's filming will need to head to production after lunch so they can be prepped."

With that, we're dismissed. Peeta takes my hand and we go into the hallway, headed for lunch. Which is good, because I'm starving. I still get bigger meals than most, because I'm training. But I miss the enormous meals I'd get when I was pregnant. I tell Peeta that and he laughs.

"You're dining with the peasants now," he says. I wrap my arm around his waist and pull him closer to me.

"I missed you," I tell him.

"I missed you more," he says.

"How's the baby?" I ask.

"We had a good morning," Peeta tells me, his face lighting up. "I was with Haymitch, Plutarch, and Boggs most of this morning, discussing some media strategies for the invasion. I took Mason on a walk down to the hospital so he could see your family, then we stopped by Effie's, so she could see him."

"I hate not being able to see him," I say, frustrated. "I miss him so much."

"I know," he says sympathetically. "But you know why you have to train."

"Yeah," I agree, sighing. "At least I'll have thirty minutes with him at lunch."

When we walk in the cafeteria, I rake my eyes over every face until I find Gale's. He's sitting next to Madge, and he's holding my son with one arm as he uses the other to eat. I scan my schedule as we walk in, so the kitchen knows how much food to give me. As soon as I get my tray, I hand it to Peeta and rush over to where Gale is sitting.

"There he is!" I say. In seconds, I've scooped my son into my arms and pressed my lips to his little forehead. The familiar babyish smell is instantly comforting, and I sit down, Mason tucked into my left arm. Lunch today is a heaping bowl of beef stew, and my mouth waters as soon as I smell it. But I don't eat yet. Instead, I run my fingers along my son's face, making sure everything is perfectly normal. I count his ten fingers and ten toes. Wrap him tighter in his blanket. Only when I make sure he's healthy, that he's warm, that he's well, do I dip my spoon into my bowl and eat.

"Thanks for taking him," Peeta tells Gale.

"No problem," responds Gale. His eyes fall to my infant son's face again, and he adds, "Mase and I had a lot of fun. Went down to the hummingbird room."

"Has he eaten? How many time have you changed him?" I ask.

"He was a little fussy right before we headed up for lunch," Gale tells me. "I fed him a little and he was fine. Changed him once."

"Did you remember to burp him?" I ask, shoveling a spoonful of stew in my mouth. _God, this tastes so good,_ I think to myself.

Gale rolls his eyes at me and says, "You know, you two need to stop being so crazy. I have two little brothers and a little sister. I know that you're supposed to burp a baby after you feed him, Katniss."

"Sorry," I say grumpily.

"Even if I had forgotten, Boggs mentioned it to me before he handed Mason off to me. Said that Peeta wanted him to remind me," chuckles Gale.

Peeta laughs a little bit, and he doesn't look the slightest bit embarrassed. He doesn't care that we're overprotective and crazy, so long as our family is safe. After finishing his piece of bread, he asks, "Can you take him after lunch? I have to do propo stuff."

"Yeah, I guess," says Gale. He looks like he's trying hard not to look excited. "Madge and I are in Special Defense all afternoon, working on explosive traps. Shouldn't be a problem."

"You mean _you'll_ be working on explosive traps," corrects Madge. "_I'll _be hanging out with Mason."

Everyone laughs a little, and I keep spooning stew into my mouth. When all of the meat and vegetables are gone, I dip my thick piece of bread in the broth and drink the rest of the hot, steaming broth down. I think I've finished my lunch in record time, mostly so I can spend the rest of lunch looking at my son. I swing my legs out from under the table and set Mason on my thighs. He starts to fuss a little, so I unwrap his blanket and move his little legs back and forth, trying to expel any gas that might make him uncomfortable. After a moment, his babyish grunts and murmurs subside and I smile down at him while I move his legs. His eyes are wide open, and they're a bright, clear blue. Yesterday, I was sure they were gray, but they definitely look blue today. My mom says that it's normal, that all newborns have changeling eyes. By the time he's a year old, his eyes will have taken on a permanent color. I wonder what it'll be.

I take a sip of water before getting a good grip on Mason, and I hold him up to my face so I can kiss him. I dip my fingers in my water and brush his black hair off of his forehead. He lost a little weight after he was born—which made Peeta and me panic—but the doctor told us that it was completely normal. He's starting gaining it back though, and now he's four ounces above his birth weight.

At two weeks old, he is a remarkably happy infant. He sleeps for six hour stretches a night before he wakes up for a feeding, and mostly only cries when he's hungry and needs to be changed. If the first two weeks of his life are any indication, he's going to be as happy and easygoing as his father. Thank God.

Peeta extends his fingers towards me and says, "Please, Katniss? I don't get to see him all afternoon."

I roll my eyes, but move Mason to his arms anyway. I wasn't wrong about him being a great father; he lives and breathes for our son. My mother made a comment about how odd it is that Peeta tends to our baby all day while I'm out training, and though I know she didn't mean anything bad by it, it rubbed me the wrong way. Peeta loves our son, of course he wants to take care of him all day. Meanwhile, I'm doing what I have to do to make this country a safer place for my family. There's nothing odd about that.

I feel a tug on my arm and look up to see Finnick, frown already on his face, jerking his head towards the door. "We've gotta get back to training," he says. He turns to Annie and kisses her gently before saying, "If you have any trouble during filming, Peeta will be there."

"Alright," she says. She looks a little disheveled, probably from the rough day she had yesterday, but she smiles at me and asks, "Is it alright if I stop by tonight?"

"You don't have to keep asking me, Annie," I tell her. "Of course you can. You can tell me more stories about District 4."

"Okay," she says.

"My mom and Prim will probably be there, too. I hope you don't mind," I say. She shakes her head at me gently and smiles before walking away.

"Alright, sweetheart," I say, turning to Peeta. "I have to go."

He groans a little bit, like me leaving is the worst thing that could happen to him. He holds the baby against his chest with one arm, using the other to grasp my face and kiss me roughly.

"Good luck with your propo," I say in a throaty voice. I don't want to leave.

"I love you," he reminds me. I lean in and kiss him again before pressing my lips to my son's head.

"I love you, too," I say. I turn to Gale, who's still eating at the table. "You know where to call if you have trouble, right?"

"Yeah," he says.

"See you," I say to him and Madge. Before Finnick drags me out the door, I turn around and look at Peeta one more time. He's looking at me, too, one arm raised in a halfhearted wave, the other cradling our son.


	43. Chapter 42

**I don't own the Hunger Games.**

** Hey guys, sorry for my lack of updates. I've been busy, so it slipped my mind. I'll post another chapter tomorrow, hopefully. If you have any comments, leave me a review!**

District Seven looks different than it did nearly a year ago, on our Victory Tour. The Square of the town has obviously been bombed, and there are large sections of the forest that are burnt out. Somewhere on the horizon, there is gray and black smoke billowing into the sky. When I asked Johanna why, she said that fires in the pine forests of Seven are hard to put out. She looks a little wistful as we stare out at her district, but she also looks hardened. Like she knows that this place will never be her home again—after all, how could it? Her entire family is dead—but she already misses it.

"We'll come back and visit after the war," I say to her.

"Yeah," she acquiesces quietly.

Mason is balanced on my forearm, belly down. Though he's only three weeks old, he likes being held this way. When he cries in the middle of the night, I need only hold him like this before he settles down and nods off again. I swing him back and forth absentmindedly, my eyes glued on the back of Peeta's blond head. He is talking to the commander of Seven, their voices hushed. My eyes burn with drowsiness. Because we've taken all of the districts and destroyed most of the Capitol's hovercraft when the Nut was taken down, we did not need to take a circuitous route here. Still, the five hour flight was long.

Three armored trucks roll up—two for the victors, and one for my prep team and crew—and we are ushered into them. We are not making our appearance on the steps of the Justice Building, like I thought we would be. We are filming on a makeshift stage in the Victor's Village. When I asked Plutarch why, he told me, "Think of it like the victors are taking back everything that was stolen from them by the Capitol." It makes no sense to me—the Capitol _gave_ us our houses—but I'm not in charge. So I hand the baby to Peeta and climb into the truck.

Plutarch insisted on accompanying us on our tour, mainly because I don't think he trusted us to make a public appearance without him hovering over us. I want to roll my eyes, because all of us—_most_ of us, I amend, thinking of Annie—chose this revolution. We all know how to handle ourselves.

On our fifteen minute ride, I see more of Seven than I did on my Victory Tour. We weren't really permitted out of the Square on our Tour, but it's easy to see, even though part of it has been wrecked by the rebellion, that District Seven is beautiful. The trees are so dense that the forest floor beneath them looks like it has been stuck in perpetual night. Though we are not allowed to roll the windows down, I can practically smell the pine from here. I look at Johanna again. Her eyes are glued to the trees outside, like they'll vanish if she tears her eyes away. I take her hand.

"Johanna, do you want to hold the baby during our speeches?" asks Peeta, who is watching Johanna with sad eyes.

"That's a great idea," quips Plutarch.

I roll my eyes at him and say, "I didn't know your name was Johanna."

He sighs, annoyed, but doesn't say anything. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see that Peeta is grinning. I turn towards him and our son, and brush Mason's dark hair back. For a newborn, he has incredibly long, thick hair. My own hair isn't thin by any means, but I suspect that he gets it from Peeta.

"Commander Ashe insists that the baby won't be in danger," says Peeta, watching me closely. I glance up at him. There is fierce protectiveness in his eyes.

"Alright," I say, though I'm still nervous. I argued with Plutarch on the hovercraft ride here. Peeta and I wanted to put our son in the indestructible cube that Beetee made for him, but Plutarch wasn't having it. He said it would put off a bad image, like we were scared of the rebels, or something. No amount of arguing from Peeta and me would change his mind.

"Luckily, he's the most loved child in the nation," chimes in Beetee from the front seat. He turns to smile at me.

"Luckily," I say back with a weary grin. I turn to Johanna. "Annie going to be alright?"

"Yeah, I think so," says Johanna. Peeta passes the baby to her and Johanna's arms tighten around him naturally, instinctively. "She's pretty good at handling herself, as far as I can remember. Hi, Masey," she coos down to Mason. "JoJo missed you, yes she did."

Despite my nerves, I have to grin. While Gale is perfectly content being 'Uncle Gale,' Johanna hated the idea of being called 'Aunt Johanna' so much that she made her own nickname. She's prattling on to the baby about how this is 'JoJo's old home,' and holds him up enough so she can point out different kinds of trees.

"You know he can't understand you, Johanna," I say, watching her closely. She scowls at me.

"I know that, brainless," she snaps, rolling her eyes. "Kids learn to talk sooner if you talk to them."

"'Kay," I say back, unconvinced. I turn to Peeta, who wraps his arm around my shoulders. He presses a kiss on my temples, and I say, "I don't know what I'm supposed to say to these people."

"I'll do most of the talking, if you want," he suggests. "But I don't think you'll have a problem."

"Peeta, you know I can't be inspiring out of the blue," I roll my eyes. "All of the 'rebellious' things I've done were completely reactionary."

"You're never going to see yourself the way you really are," sighs Peeta. "You already are inspiring, Katniss. Stop worrying so much."

I want to say something rude back, but he's grinning down at me in an infectious kind of way. So I just mumble, "Whatever," and let him kiss me roughly. Soon enough, the armored car screeches to a stop. I pull my lips away from Peeta's and peer out the window. We've taken a small dirt road to the back of Victor's Village, where a large makeshift stage has been constructed. There's already a sizable crowd in front of it, talking excitedly amongst themselves. My stomach turns over.

"You're on camera in thirty," says Plutarch, looking at his watch. He pushes open a car door and points to a small tent behind the stage. "Katniss's team will give you a quick prep and then we're on."

He practically shoves us out of the car and gives the same little spiel to the victors in the other car—Finnick, Annie, Haymitch, and Chaff—before mounting the stage to shake hands with the Mayor of Seven, who has somehow survived the war so far. Johanna hands the baby off to Peeta as my prep team pulls us into the tent. They do very little prep on us; they dab makeup under our eyes to hide the dark circles, re-braid my hair. They attempt to cover up a long cut on Chaff's face that hasn't healed yet. The only people they don't touch are Finnick and Annie. Mason is passed from victor to victor, everyone complaining about how little time they have to hold him.

It truly blows my mind that so many people love my son already. The victors—my friends—gravitate towards him, and it didn't take me long to figure out why. Panem is such a desolate, bleak place and these victors have suffered for so long, that any new life, any tidbits of happiness, are addictive to them. My son is probably the most loved child in Panem.

Right now, Finnick is following an order barked by Plutarch from the side of the stage and changing Mason into a long-sleeved, black onesie that Cinna made for him. It's a nice little thing, but I roll my eyes when I see that a small gold mockingjay rests over the left side of his chest. Plutarch probably told him to do that.

After Finnick snaps the last button shut, he covers my son's face in kisses and coos something at him. Annie is hovering over the two of them, her eyes—full of love—shifting from Finnick's face to my son's. She reaches for Mason, but just then, the Mayor of Seven begins to speak to his people and Haymitch signals for us to go outside. Since this is Johanna's district and she's Mason's godmother, Finnick hands him over to Johanna with no argument. His eyes are wide open, and they focus on Johanna, who grins down at him and tickles his belly. We walk outside into the sun, and Haymitch pushes me to the front of the line, followed by Peeta and Johanna. I take a deep breath and start ascending the stairs when the Mayor announces my name.

I manage to put on a wide smile and wave to the crowd—which is massive—before I take my place next to Plutarch. Peeta and Johanna do the same, and their applause for Johanna and my son is deafening. It's louder than their applause for me. Johanna smiles at them widely, and it seems almost natural. These are her people, after all. As soon as all of the victors are acknowledged and the crowd goes silent, I open my mouth to speak. "Good morning, District Seven." I look at Peeta and he smiles at me encouragingly. "It's wonderful to be back in your district. Since I'm sure you all have seen enough of me lately," and the audience laughs good-naturedly, "I'd like to introduce you to Peeta and I's son." I gesture towards Johanna and Mason. "This is Haymitch Mason Everdeen-Mellark." On the screens they've hung across the Victor's Village, I can see either Pollux or Castor—they're out of their insect shells today and instead are operating enormous cameras the swing over the stage and crowd—has zoomed in on Johanna and my son. "He's three weeks old now, and he's the best thing that's ever happened to us. I want to thank all of you for fighting for us and for our son, so that he can someday live a life free from oppression." Peeta's hand grips mine tightly.

"I'm sure you all saw the footage from Two, right after he was born," Peeta picks up effortlessly. "But in case you forgot, we named him after Haymitch, our mentor." He gestures towards Haymitch, who waves good-naturedly at the crowd. "His middle name is after one of your own victors and his godmother, Johanna Mason." Absolutely deafening applause and cheers from the people of Seven. "Since becoming a father, it's even more important for me that we take down the Capitol. Before he was even born, Mas-Haymitch, I mean, survived an arena, a bombing in District Eight, and the final battle for District Two. I want us all to keep fighting so that he'll never see the inside of an arena. So he'll never be a slave to the Capitol and President Snow."

Johanna begins to speak about how great it is to be back home, and makes a few sarcastic comments about how she won't be able to wash the smell of pine out of her clothes now. Then she goes on to ruminate on the subject of how she always knew that the people of her district were fighters. She makes a snarky comment about how no one calls Mason by his real name, because she is obviously superior to Haymitch. This makes people laugh. She talks about some of the realizations she's made since Mason was born and how it's more important than ever to fight, and how she knows that the people of Seven will be some of the first in line when we invade the Capitol.

Each victor speaks in turn, everyone making at least a brief comment about my son, mostly that he represents what is good and innocent, and we have to keep fighting for that. Annie surprises me; she speaks with eloquence about the indignities she's suffered at the hands of the Capitol and why it's important to take back everything that was stolen from us. Soon enough, we are done speaking. I glance at Peeta's watch. It is only nine-thirty. Plutarch makes a few closing remarks, and tells the audience there'll be a thirty minute period during which they can meet us. He didn't tell us about that and I start to panic. Strangers laying hands on my child. I look at Peeta frantically.

"It'll be alright," he murmurs in my ear, under the pretext of kissing me on the cheek.

Johanna's at my side, too, telling them, "If they touch him I'll rip their hands off. Don't worry."

"She's right," says Peeta, tugging my hand and leading me off the stage. "Let Johanna handle it. She knows how to be rude better than either of us."

Nobody really tries to touch Mason; the few people who try are verbally assaulted by Johanna, but they don't seem to take it personally. Peeta pulls them aside after and offers some flimsy excuse. I think he tells them that the baby has a weak immune system or something. I don't know. Castor and Pollux wander around, getting shots of us meeting the people of Seven. Cressida even breaks out a photographic camera and snaps pictures of us. By the time we give the people of Seven a parting wave, I am exhausted.

The flight to Eight is almost three hours long, and all of us, including Mason, get a good nap in during the flight. As soon as we land, though, he starts crying and I have to pull myself to the side, behind the stage, to drape a blanket over my shoulder and feed him. His fingers dig into my breast, but I barely notice. I am too busy studying his perfect, blemish-free creamy skin and his long, black eyelashes. It never fails to amaze me that Peeta and I created this little miracle. With each day that passes, his eyes get bluer. The only two traits of my own that I can see in his face—besides my coloring—are the shape of his eyes and his nose. Otherwise, Peeta rules his face. I can't say that I mind. Whatever good looks the both of us possess are amplified in our son's face. When Mason finally releases my breast, there are only a couple of minutes before we're supposed to go on stage. Johanna rushes back to me with an outfit of deep gold to dress Mason in. We manage to get him out of his old one and into his new one in less than thirty seconds. I think it's a new record.

Our appearance in Eight is pretty similar to the one we made hours earlier in Seven. I make a few passing remarks about how motherhood has made me more determined to fight the Capitol. Peeta reiterates that and spins a few long, beautiful sentences about why it's so important that we fight until Snow is no more. Everyone follows suit, inspiring in their own way.

Finally, at four o'clock in the afternoon, we land in Eleven and make our final appearance. Venia tosses a small, orange-red onesie at me. In this district, I make more personal comments, because this is Rue's district. Almost my entire speech is about her and how important she was to me, how she was good and kind and young. How her death was heart-wrenching and so fundamentally unfair that it takes my breath away. District Eleven is still hard for me to face. In this district, Chaff speaks the longest, appealing to his people. He tells them that they've been brave and they've fought like warriors, but they need to summon one last bit of strength and courage so we can take down the Capitol. Finally, at a little past five, we collapse into our seats on the hovercraft. Mason is asleep before I can buckle him into the safety of his cube.

PB

Finnick and I are panting, racing each other to see who can finish our five mile run the fastest. I usually beat Finnick by a good stretch, but his training is paying off. His body, so weakened by torture, is regaining its muscle and is responding to the hard, intense training we endure every day. He lags behind me a few steps, and as we cross into the final two hundred meters, I hear him grunt in exertion and he pushes ahead of me by a pace or two.

"Asshole," I wheeze, and I try push my muscles to catch him. But he grins back at me tiredly and something in him spurs him a few more paces in front of me. Grunting with effort, I catch up to him and we are barreling towards the finish line, neck and neck. His foot crosses the line half a second before mine does. We collapse onto the grass.

We are breathing so hard I am afraid our lungs are going to give out. But we're grinning at each other, and after a moment, he pulls me to my feet. My muscles, which would've been quaking and about to give out a couple of weeks ago, are more solid and firm than they have been in a long time.

We've progressed a few levels above the beginner level at which we began four weeks ago when we begin our training. It's been about almost two weeks since our tour of the districts, and we're finally starting to resemble soldiers.

Finnick takes a long drink from his water bottle and tosses it to me. I gulp the rest of it down thirstily. We had a long morning of combat exercises and tactics classes, but this afternoon is so full of physical training I almost wish that we were back in that dull classroom, learning about ambushes.

"God, I want to be done with this already," says Finnick, finally regaining his breath. I blot some of the sweat off my face with my tank top.

"You're telling me," I say. I scowl at him and add, "You don't have an infant son you have to leave behind every day."

"Annie and I are getting married," says Finnick casually.

"What?" I yelp. "You didn't tell me!"

"We only just decided this morning," Finnick grins. "Plutarch wants to give us a wedding and make a propo out of it."

"Of course he does," I groan. "I'm glad that my wedding was out of the public eye."

"It wasn't," says Finnick. The rest of our classmates are milling around us, trying to look like they're not eavesdropping on our conversation. They fail, but I don't really blame them. Finnick and I are celebrities; there's a certain price you have to pay when you have status. I wish more than ever that I was somewhere that people weren't watching me all the time. "Your wedding was televised."

"No, I mean-that wasn't what I was talking about," I say. "We had a really small wedding in Twelve before we flew to the Capitol. It was just us and our families."

"I wish we could do that," says Finnick. "But there's no way we could go back to Four."

"Yeah," I agree. "I'm sorry."

"It's alright," he says. He fills our water bottle up at a canteen and takes a drink. "I take it you didn't wear white when you got married in Twelve."

"I wore green," I say, rolling my eyes at him. "It was really small. After, we went home and had our toasting. Then some people came over. That was it."

"Toasting?" he asks, cocking an eyebrow.

"It's this tradition in Twelve," I explain. I briefly explain the toasting and then say, "No one really feels married until after the toasting."

"That sounds weird," laughs Finnick. He punches my shoulder lightly and asks, "Who came to your . . . reception?"

"It wasn't really a reception," I say, chuckling. "Just dinner and cake. My mom and sister, Peeta's dad and brothers, Haymitch, Gale's family, and Madge. A couple of neighbors of ours from the Seam."

"Gale didn't go?"

"No, things wer-I don't know, Finnick, things weren't good with us then," I say awkwardly. I don't know how much Finnick knows about the tension that existed between Gale and I after I told him I was really in love with Peeta. But Finnick nods like he understands. Since I don't want to talk about Gale's unrequited love for me, I say, "He and Madge are really good for each other."

"I guess," says Finnick. "I don't know much about Gale. Only that him and Johanna fight over your kid a lot."

"Yeah, they do," I laugh. "Did Johanna ever tell you about when she and Madge got into a fistfight?"

"No," says Finnick.

"Right after Snow bombed Thirteen, we were supposed to come aboveground and film a propo to tell the rebels that we were alive and well," I explain. I roll my eyes at the memory. "Johanna and I realized, at some point, that they were using you against us. Snow was trying to unhinge us; torturing you as punishment for our role in the rebellion. Anyway, he left this giant pile of roses in the rubble, like he was telling us that he was watching and he was going to make sure you were punished for our actions. I threw up on the ground and Johanna lost it. You know how she is."

"I do," chuckles Finnick. "How'd she lose it?"

"Well, you know that thing that she does. I do it, too, I guess. Where she's so angry that she lashes out at the first person to say something. Gale told her to calm down, or something, and Johanna went off on him. Madge defended Gale, and Johanna ended up punching Madge in the nose. Madge got her back, but in the end, Gale had to pull Madge away from Johanna. Peeta was trying to restrain Johanna, but she's freakishly strong when she's mad."

"That explains why Johanna had a black eye when I first saw her after being rescued," muses Finnick. There's a grin on his face, even when our instructor yells at us to get moving. We jog to the firing range and Finnick adds, as we slow to a stop, "You and Johanna are good for each other."

"Yeah," I say tiredly. "We fight a lot."

"That's what happens when you put two people that are exactly the same together," laughs Finnick. "Before we got together, Annie and I would fight all the time."

"You two were friends before you got together?" I ask, assembling my rifle.

"Yeah, we'd been friends for a long time," answers Finnick. "One day, I looked at her and realized that I'd never really be able to see anyone else."

"So you didn't love her right away," I speculate, jamming piece of my gun together.

"No, she crept up on me," Finnick tells me quietly. As he puts his rifle together, he's quiet, and I'm left to speculate at the path their relationship took. I wonder, were neither of us ever in the Games, if I'd have ever plucked up the courage to thank Peeta for the bread. To pay him back in some way. I think, eventually, I would have. But I also think that eventually, he would've approached me and told me how he felt. I know that somehow we would've come together without the Games, but I wonder how long it would've taken us. Whether it would have taken years for him to chip away at the icy walls around my heart. Whether I would love him as intensely as I do now. Where would we be, if it weren't for the Games and the war?

Eventually, as we're finishing putting our guns together, I say, "You and Annie don't seem that alike."

"We aren't anymore, I guess," says Finnick. "But before the 70th Games, she was kind of like you. Hardened and tough. She didn't take shit from anyone." He grins a little, sliding his clip into place. "She still doesn't, really, but she isn't as hard now. The Games changed her a lot."

Since most of the class are still assembling their weapons, Finnick and I can talk more freely now, without worrying that our instructor will chide us. "Can I ask you something?" I say.

"Sure."

"Why'd her district partner volunteer if they were together?" I ask, because the question has been bothering me for a long time. It isn't like I spend a lot of time thinking about Annie and her Games, but the question has tugged idly at the corners of my mind. Being with Peeta in the Games, regardless of my distrust of him and our shaky relationship, was hard enough. I can't imagine being in the arena with him if we were together before the Games.

"It's hard to explain to someone that isn't from Career district, but I guess I'll try," says Finnick, flipping the safety on his weapon and setting it on the table. "It's the glory of the thing, I guess. You spend your entire life in a special academy being trained for the Games, hoping someday that you'll get a chance at being in the arena. If you're the one picked to volunteer, it's really hard to resist. Most kids that are trained dream of being in the Games. I suppose that the honor and glory of the whole thing was too much to turn down."

"Oh," I say. "You're right. That's something I'll never understand."

"Yeah. But he was a good guy and he really loved Annie," says Finnick with a small smile. "Annie loved him, too, but less than he loved her, I think. She was pretty closed off. Didn't let a lot of people in." After a long period of silence punctuating by the clicking and slamming of weapon parts, Finnick adds, "For a while, I thought Annie was with me because I was the only option left. But I think she realized, at some point, that we would've ended up together anyway. We were better for each other."

"I can understand that," I say. I'm about to say something else, but our instructor barks at us to move our table aside and begin firing. My words are lost on my lips and my mind zeroes in on the target hundreds of meters away.

PB

Finnick goes home after training, and I head back to our compartment. Though I want nothing more than peace and quiet, as soon as I walk in, I can tell that I'm not going to get it. Johanna, Peeta, and Meetchum are arguing in the living room, and I shoot Peeta a confused look before he jerks his head towards our bedroom. I open and close the door to find Madge sitting on my bed, legs stretched out into a V-shape. Mason is between them, kicking his legs.

"Hey," I say, giving her a quick hug before settling on the bed near her feet. I don't pick Mason up. I just run my fingers along his face and count his fingers and toes. He is fine. He is safe, he is well, he is alive. I repeat the words to myself mentally, long enough for me to calm down a little. "How was your day?"

"Good," she tells me, grinning down at my son. "Gale and I fought."

"Why?" I ask.

"He had this idea for a bomb," she says. Mason starts crying, and it's a long blustering wail. This is 'I'm hungry' cry, so I tug down my shirt so he can attach himself to my breast. Since it's only Madge in here, I don't bother covering myself. I look up at her, and she's playing with her hands.

"What's wrong?" I ask.

"I don't know, Katniss, I-I-you know that I love Gale. I really do. But sometimes his intensity and lack of compassion for other people scares me," she says. "I hate the Capitol, too, just as much as he does. But when he suggests that Beetee make a bomb that targets first responders, I just can't-I can't agree."

"What?" I snap. Mason starts in my arms and I jiggle him up and down a little so he settles down. His fingers dig into my breast and I hiss a little. "He wants to make a bomb that _what_?"

"He and I were in Special Weaponry with Beetee today," says Madge. "Plutarch's been sending us down there almost every day, since we're the 'brains.'" Madge rolls her eyes. "I don't like what we did in Two, Katniss. I know that we had to, and I know that we left the train tunnels open, but it just doesn't feel right. Killing innocent people."

"Yeah, I know," I say tiredly. "Gale doesn't understand murder, not really. Take it from someone who's killed people. Even if you're forced into an arena, murdering someone is personal."

"I know," she rages, her blue eyes fiery and indignant. I know her anger is not directed at me, but it's still an unnerving sight, seeing Madge angry. "But I suggested those avalanches in Two because we _needed_ Two to fall. Gale's idea is this: set off a bomb, a small explosion, that injures and kills some people. Then, as soon as medics and other first responders start moving in to help the wounded, set off a second, larger bomb. It's just not right."

"No, it isn't," I agree, looking down at my son. His eyes, bluer than ever, are open and he's studying me sleepily. He still tugs at my breast, but from the drowsy set of his eyes, he'll be asleep soon. I look at the clock on the wall. Four-thirty. I jiggle him a little, knowing that if he sleeps now, he'll be awake all night. He makes some babyish noise in his throat and his eyes snap open. "Sorry, baby," I murmur to him. "Can't keep daddy up all night again."

"I'm sorry, Katniss, you probably have more to worry about than my problems with Gale," says Madge. "I just don't know what to do."

"It's alright, Madge, really," I say, looking up at her again. "I don't mind. And I think you're right."

"I just don't know how I'll live with myself if we build the bomb. If we actually _use_ it," she says, and her small, delicate nose wrinkles with disgust.

"That isn't on you, Madge," I protest.

"Still, I'd still think about it every day. I'd still feel like it was my fault for not talking him out of it," she says quietly.

"There's no talking Gale out of anything," I say with a humourless chuckle. "In any case, Madge, if I've learned to deal with the knowledge that I've murdered people, you can, too. I know it sounds cold, but we find a way to go on no matter how bad our losses."

"You're not a murderer, though," she says.

"I am. I killed those people without even thinking about it, without considering another solution," I tell her. "I mean, I see their faces every single night, but I've learned to live with it."

"I guess," acquiesces Madge quietly.

After a while, I ask, "What's going on in the living room?" Peeta and Johanna's voices are still raised, and Meetchum is trying to calm them down, I think.

"I tried not to eavesdrop," says Madge. After a minute, though, she cracks a smile and adds, "Unsuccessfully. I came here at around three, to see you and the baby. You weren't back yet, so Peeta made me coffee and we were talking about Gale when Johanna and Meetchum came storming in, yelling at each other. Peeta got involved, trying to calm them down, but when he found out what they were arguing about, he got mad, too. That's when I brought the baby in here."

"What are they arguing about?" I ask, my curiosity piqued.

"I guess Meetchum is in training to be a combat medic," answers Madge. Though Mason is still feeding, she reaches out and tickles his toe. It's amazing how comfortable I am around her; my breast is out and my son is attached to it, but it doesn't even faze me. "I guess Coin is allowing some people that are military age to train as medics. She says we'll be in dire need as soon as we invade the Capitol."

Truthfully, I can see why that sets Peeta off. Peeta is the only one in his family who's ever been put in harm's way, and he knows how to handle it. He is also overprotective of everyone he loves, and is probably upset that as soon as he's gotten his family to a safe place, free of Snow, his brother decides to be a hero and throw himself into a dangerous situation.

I know exactly why Johanna's pissed off. She finally found someone to care about—though I suspect she's fallen in love with him by now, even if she denies it angrily—and that someone decides to put himself in a position where he could get killed. She is afraid to lose him.

"I get it," I say.

"Yeah," she agrees. "I want this war to be over already."

"We'll get through it," I tell her. It isn't exactly the truth, and she knows it. But there is no use in talking about the possibility of our deaths. No use at all. "We're fighting for something good."

"Who's taking Mason while we're in the Capitol?" asks Madge, sniffling and wiping a stray tear off her face.

"Haymitch is taking him while my mom and sister are working," I answer. "After they get off work, they're taking him for the night. Annie says she'll help, and so did Beetee. It's nice having so many people that love him."

"The entire country love him," she says fondly, looking down at Mason, who I've pulled away from my breast. I dangle a little toy in front of him, and it makes an odd little tinkling noise. Beetee made it; he says that the noise is specifically targeted to stimulate his brain and help him form synapses. There's a really long word for it that he told me—synaptogenesis, I think it was. Mason's eyes focus a little more, zeroing in on the toy. He tries to grab it with his hand, but his reflexes aren't great and he just manages to reach his hand up to his face. Madge and I laugh, and at the sound of my voice, he turns his head towards me. I smile down at him and the corners of his little mouth turn and he exposes his gums.

"Did you see that?" I ask suddenly. "I think he smiled at me."

"He's smiled before," says Madge with a frown. She lays down and leans on her elbow so she can look at him better.

"I always thought that was gas," I say, and Madge laughs. "I swear, Madge, I smiled at him, and he smiled back."

"I think that's normal," says Madge. "Dinner's in fifteen minutes."

"I suppose I should put him on his tummy," I say. "Dr. Borley says he needs to be on his stomach for a little while every day."

I flip him over and he immediately starts to whine. But I rub little circles into his back. The voices outside get louder, and I have half a mind to go knock Johanna out so she can stop yelling. But I don't. Mason raises his head, at an angle of about forty-five degrees, and looks curiously at the door. Already he's attuned to Peeta's, Johanna's, and my voices. Like she knows what Haymitch is thinking, Johanna storms into the bedroom and snaps, "Let me hold him."

"Why?" I ask, though I pick him up from the bed and set him in Johanna's arms. Johanna holds him the same way I do, his stomach resting against her forearm, moving her arm back and forth, like he's flying.

"I need to calm down," she tells me irritably. "Hey, Madge," she says, like an afterthought.

"Hey," Madge says. Their relationship has thawed quite a bit, probably because Madge spends so much time at our compartment. They can talk like friends now, though somehow I know they'll never be best friends. "You alright?"

"Not really," she says. Peeta raises his voice outside, and Meetchum yells back. Madge gets up and slams the door shut.

"What's going on?" asks Madge, as if she wasn't eavesdropping the entire time.

"He's so stupid, I swear he's so fucking stupid," Johanna rages quietly, still swinging Mason back and forth. After a moment, she joins us on the bed, laying back against the pillows and setting Mason on her chest. Her hands move up and down his tiny back idly. "That idiot wants to go and get himself killed in the Capitol. He's so stupid, it's like he doesn't understand that it's _dangerous._"

I know that Madge wants to say something to the effect of _He just wants to help, he wants to be useful._ But she doesn't, because she is a lot more tactful than Johanna or I could ever be. Instead she says, "Yeah, I can see why you're upset about that."

"He doesn't know how to handle danger!" says Johanna. "He isn't like us. He hasn't seen the inside of an arena. He hasn't been to districts that are at war. He hasn't infiltrated the Capitol to rescue people. He doesn't get it." It surprises me that she includes Madge in her list of people that know how to handle danger, but I don't say anything.

I glance at the clock on the wall, and it's five minutes until dinner. Madge looks down at the schedule on her arm and sighs. "Stay here. Let me go calm Peeta down," I say.

So I walk into the living room, and Peeta's voice lowers as soon as he sees me. I walk up close to him and say, "I know you're upset. But the yelling is upsetting the baby."

It's a lie, of course. Mason couldn't care less who's yelling, because he's being doted on. But still, I know it will calm Peeta down a little. It does.

"Sorry, sweetheart," he says gently. He kisses me on the forehead and whispers, "Was training alright?"

"Finnick beat me at our five mile run," I tell him. "But otherwise, yeah, it was good."

Peeta smiles at me and runs his fingers up my arm. I shiver. Looking at his watch he says, "You three should go to dinner."

"What about you?" I ask.

"I'll be there. I'm going to find a different table, though. See if I can talk some sense into him," says Peeta so quietly Meetchum doesn't have a chance of hearing it. I try to make a confused face so Peeta doesn't assume Madge was eavesdropping. He laughs a little bit.

"I know Madge heard. No one could tune that out," he says, his face a little less tense. "Don't worry about me. I'm going to go to my family's compartment after dinner and see if Dad can make him see sense."

"Alright," I say. "I love you."

"I love you too, Katniss," he whispers softly.

Before I pull my friends out of the bedroom, I throw a, "Don't be stupid, Meetch," over my shoulder.

Johanna carries Mason in a sling across her chest. Were she not so upset, I'd be holding him, since I haven't seen him all day. But having him close helps her calm down, so I let her. When we get to the cafeteria, I search the room until I find the table where Prim sits. She's settled in, so close to Rory that their arms brush against each other as they eat. I frown.

Gale is sitting by his mother, and I scowl at him before setting my tray next to Prim. Madge doesn't meet his eyes. She plops down next to Johanna and they start talking about Meetchum again. It's nice that they finally get along. I was getting tired of going back and forth between them, trying to keep the peace.

"Hey," I say to Prim, wrapping one arm around her.

"Can I come over after dinner?" asks Prim immediately.

"You don't have to ask, Prim," I say, rolling my eyes.

"We're having a girls' night," announces Johanna. She shoots a venomous look at Gale, who scowls back at Johanna before attacking his parsnips with his spoon. "No boys allowed."

"What about Peeta?" giggles Prim. "He lives there, you know."

"He'll have to get lost," says Johanna. This makes Prim laugh more.

"The only boy allowed is Mason," says Madge conspiratorially. She glances down at him, nestled in the gray sling Cinna fashioned for me after her he was born.

"Good," says Prim. After a moment, Finnick and Annie drop into the empty seats next to Johanna and Madge, hands laced together.

"We're having a girls' night," says Madge softly. "Are you up for it, Annie?"

"Yeah, sure," says Annie, sending a hesitant smile in Madge's direction. The two have never really interacted much; after all, they're two wildly different people. But every time they've exchanged words, Madge has been exceedingly kind. She always is.

"I talked to Plutarch," says Finnick. His sea green eyes level with my own. "He and Coin are working out the details of the wedding. It was hilarious to see them argue. So far, she's only agreed to a ceremony. But Plutarch asked if it'd be alright if we took a hovercraft to Twelve."

"Twelve? Why?" I ask.

"Cinna doesn't have the right materials here to make a dress for Annie," explains Finnick. "He used most of it making all of your outfits," he gestures towards Johanna and Madge. "And Mason's clothes. So Plutarch wanted Annie to wear one of your dresses."

"Oh," I say. "Yeah, I don't mind. When?"

"Monday, I think," says Finnick, shoving a spoonful of mashed parsnips in his mouth. It's Friday now, so I wonder why Plutarch doesn't send a hovercraft to Twelve tomorrow or Sunday, when Finnick and I aren't training. I don't say anything, though. It's best not to question Plutarch's weird motives. Finnick explains anyway. "Coin's got most of the fleet out in the districts right now. Sending in supplies and such. Doesn't want to spare a hovercraft for such 'frivolous things' right now," says Finnick, making quotation marks with his fingers. "Most of them will be back by Monday."

"Oh," I say neutrally. I glance at Finnick again, and he's rolling his eyes. Every time we talk about Coin, he and I have a silent conversation with ours eyes. _Do we trust her? What are her motives? Why are we so important to her?_ I shrug at him. He shrugs back.

"I can't believe I locked down Panem's most notorious bachelor," says Annie in a deadpan voice, and I choke on the sip of water I'm taking. Johanna bursts out laughing, which wakes Mason up. He lets out a shrill cry, and Johanna murmurs soothing little shushing noises at him. It doesn't quite his cries.

"The rest of us can believe it," says Johanna, her tone somewhere between sarcastic and genuine. "You're probably the only person in Panem that's as good looking as him."

Annie laughs a little, but something about what Johanna said must've triggered something, because her eyes go a little vacant after that. I avert my eyes, and pretend I don't hear Finnick murmuring to her. Mason is still crying.

The sounds pierces my heart, and I'm about to reach for him when Johanna unfastens the sling and slides him out of it. She rests him against her chest, which usually calms him down. It doesn't this time, so Johanna passes him to Prim. When she does this, she isn't trying to get rid of him. His crying doesn't make her uncomfortable. She just wants him to be comforted, even if it isn't by her. Prim rocks him back and forth, talking to him in her high-pitched voice. He quiets down after a little while, though he still makes little whining noises. After ten minutes of Prim holding Mason, she hands him back to Johanna. I look up and see Gale looking at my son.

"Do you want to hold him?" I call down the table.

"I haven't seen him all day," counters Gale. "So yeah."

"It's my turn," snaps Johanna.

"You live with him," retorts Gale angrily.

"I'm his godmother," hisses Johanna.

"Yeah, and _I'm_ his godfather," he shoots back. "You're not the only one who loves him."

Gale and Johanna do this a lot. I never anticipated that Gale would develop this bond with my son, but he's adopted an almost paternal attitude with Mason. He comes by every day to see him, and Peeta regularly lets Gale take Mason when he has to do something. But because Johanna is territorial and protective over Mason—and so is Gale—they fight over him a lot. I don't try and get in the middle of it, because I don't want to get my head bitten off. When Peeta is there, he plays Peacekeeper. Otherwise, it's down to Madge to mediate. But she's looking at Gale coldly, and I wonder if there was more to their argument than she told me.

Finally, after five minutes of solid bickering, Prim raises her voice and says, "If both of you don't shut up, neither of you are going to hold him!" Knowing full well that Johanna won't be nasty to her—Prim is one of Johanna's weaknesses—she says, "Johanna, Gale doesn't see him as much as you do. Five minutes won't kill you."

Johanna rolls her eyes, but manages to hold her tongue. She hands Mason to Prim, who carries him gently to Gale. Prim's eyes linger on the delicate lines of my son's face. When she sits back down next to me, I pull her close to me and kiss her forehead. Even though I was never _really_ a mother until I had Mason, Prim still feels like my first baby. Prim lets me hug her for a while, and though my eyes are on my son, I let my mind wander.

Perhaps it's easier for me to have a child because of everything I've gone through taking care of my family. Every day, I was up before the sun, trying to provide for my family. I'd wake throughout the night to check on Prim, to get her water, to comfort after a nightmare. She was so young then, so vulnerable. She seems almost grown up now; she's confident and strong. But with that, I realize, dull ache settling into my chest, that she doesn't need me like she used to. The thought weighs on my heart—after all, I am used to Prim needing me—but at the same time, it makes me happy that she's grown into this wonderful, capable person.

"You're always going to be my baby," I tell her softly, kissing her on the forehead again.

"I know, Katniss," she says, and her voice is a far cry from the weak soprano of her earlier years. "I'm not such a baby anymore, though."

"No, you're not," I say heavily. "Sometimes I wish you still were."

"At least you don't have to work yourself to the bone trying to feed us anymore," she points out. I don't say anything, because sometimes I wish that we were back in District Twelve, poor but happy. The world not torn apart by war. But then again, if we were, I wouldn't have Peeta. I wouldn't have Mason. I wouldn't have Johanna, or Finnick. I would never have adopted Haymitch as a sort of father figure. I'd have never known Cinna. And the country wouldn't be on the verge of liberation.

"Yeah," I say finally.

PB

After dinner, I send Prim back to my compartment with Johanna and Madge, and tow my small son down to the hospital, where my mother is working a late shift. She smiles at me tiredly from her place at the nurse's station. I undo the sling and hand Mason to my mom.

"Prim's going to stay over tonight," I tell her.

"Okay," she says, smiling down at my son. She coos to him, "Hi, little boy. Grandma missed you so much."

I settle into an empty chair next to her, ignoring the curious stares of the nurses. I scoot my chair closer to her and lean my head against her shoulder. Since Mason was born, I appreciate her more than I ever have. Most days I'm so exhausted I can barely see; though Mason hardly ever cries and sleeps so well I wonder if something is wrong with him, I still have to get up in the middle of the night to feed him and soothe him back into sleep. Peeta and Johanna do, too, as much as I do. But the combination of that, my nightmares, and the physical and mental training I've been going through is rendering me exhausted.

I also understand how much she loves us. Though I love Peeta as much as I do our son, my hovering overprotectiveness is almost unbearable with Mason. Every time I'm away from him, I'm constantly worrying myself to death. Is he eating? It he alright? Has someone snatched him away from me? It's silly, because Peeta is an impeccable father. Peeta takes such good care of him I often feel like I'm falling short. Additionally, Johanna and Gale—who babysit him most often, when Peeta is in war meetings or filming propos—are almost as crazy about Haymitch as Peeta and I are.

My mother kisses me on the forehead before leaning her head down to place a kiss on the soft skin between Mason's eyebrows. "You're doing a great job, Katniss," she says softly, like she is reading my thoughts. Perhaps she knows how I feel, the ever-nagging worry that I am doing something wrong, that I don't _know_ what I'm doing.

"I'm trying," I say, my voice coming out small.

"Being a mom is hard," she says, her voice soft, like she's cooing to my son. "But you and Peeta are already wonderful parents."

"I love you, Mom," I say.

"I love you, too, sweetheart," she says in that gentle voice. "And I love my little grandbaby, yes I do," she coos down to him. After a while, she says, "He doesn't look much like you."

"I know," I sigh. "Everyone is always going on about how much he looks like me. It's annoying."

"Just your nose, I think," she says. "And your hair."

"Yeah," I say. "We're having a girls' night at my house. You can come, if you want."

"No, it's alright," she says. "You three have fun."

"Madge and Annie are coming, too," I say. "Madge got in a fight with Gale."

"I see," says my mother carefully. She's about to open her mouth and say something else, but her pager starts beeping on the counter. She sighs and looks down at Mason. "I suppose I have to go."

"That's okay," I say. My mother helps me refasten the sling and sets Mason in it carefully. She gives me a kiss on the forehead before rushing off to help her patient. I get up and walk slowly back to my compartment, worrying that the movement will wake Mason. But when I look down, he's peering up at me with blue eyes. I smile at him.

I can hear the commotion in the compartment before I even open the door. Johanna and Prim are laughing maniacally about something, and when I slid the door open, I see a little plastic cup in Johanna's hand. I know before I even get close to her that it's alcohol.

"What the hell?" I hiss at her. "Where did you get that?"

"I snuck it out of your house last time we went to Twelve," she says. "Remember? First time Madge filmed with us?"

I look over at Madge and she has a full cup, too. Annie, surprisingly, is taking sips from a cup of her own. "That's illegal here," I say, though I don't really care.

"So? Our coffeemaker probably is, too," retorts Johanna.

"I'm surprised you didn't offer Haymitch some," I say. I settle myself onto the sofa and unwrap the sling. Hand the baby to Prim.

"Haymitch needs to be sober," says Johanna waspishly. "Since he's one of the people in charge."

I shrug and say, "I guess. What is it?" I extend my hand and she hands the cup to me. I peer inside and sniff. It isn't the white liquor to which Haymitch is partial, nor is it the wine that Peeta likes to drink. It's the brown stuff that I drank a few times on our Victory Tour, when I was desperate for some kind of release from the nightmares. It smells sweet and a little rotten, like fruit that has gone bad. I hand the cup to Johanna.

"Anyway, Annie," says Prim. "I'm surprised you can control yourself when you and Finnick are in public."

"It's hard," says Annie with a small, sarcastic smile. "But I manage."

I motion for Madge to come closer to me, and she sits next to me on the sofa. Prim moves to the floor, and Johanna brings the green blanket from my room, making a soft pallet on which Prim sets my son.

"What really happened with you and Gale?" I ask quietly. Johanna is making a sarcastic quip to Prim, and Prim shoves her playfully. "I know you fought about the bomb. But there's something more."

"It's just-" Madge takes a deep breath and tries to restart her stilting sentence. "Gale doesn't fight fair when he's angry, that's all."

"I know," I say, nodding. "What did he say?"

"Something to the effect of, 'It's not surprising that you value Capitol lives so much, since you grew up with a silver spoon in your mouth.'" Madge snorts humourlessly and takes a long drink from her cup, wincing a little as the alcohol goes down. "I didn't choose to be the Mayor's daughter and have more money than the rest of Twelve. How he could think that I don't hate them after-after-you know, after Dad died. But he always hits below the belt."

"I'm sorry," I say, taking her hand. My eyes travel to Johanna, who is trying to pass the cup surreptitiously to Prim. "Johanna! Prim is thirteen years old," I snap at her.

"I'm almost fourteen," says Prim.

"Almost fourteen isn't old enough to drink," I say sternly.

"Let her try it, Katniss," says Johanna, rolling her eyes. "It's not gonna kill her."

I think about it for a moment, and though I don't like it much, I know it won't kill her. It isn't as if Johanna would give her enough to get drunk. I relent and say, "One or two sips, Prim. That's all."

"I just want to try it," she says, and takes a tiny drink of the alcohol. She wrinkles her nose immediately and with great effort, swallows it back. "That's awful."

All of us laugh, because her youth and innocence is so refreshing. None of us—not even Madge—could ever be as carefree as Prim is now. We are too old. I don't mean old in the traditional sense of the word; we are all still young in years. But Annie, Johanna, and I have been in the arena. This ages you more than anything else. Madge has seen her actions and decisions lead to the death of hundreds, maybe even thousands, of people in District Two. She offered herself up to save Finnick and Chaff. And Gale told me not long ago that Madge joined him and Peeta's brothers in running back in Twelve while it was on fire, trying to save more people from the bombs. We are all old beyond our years, tired and worn.

Madge turns back to me and says, "Does what I did in Two make me a murderer?"

I take a deep breath that whistles between my teeth. I don't know what to tell her, because my actions in the Games, forced though they were, make me a murderer. After some long thought, I say, "Madge, that distinction is up to you. You did what was necessary, and you fought for the people in the Nut to have a way out. I can't tell you whether or not you're a murderer. It's your own conscience. Peeta tells me all the time that I'm not a murderer, but I think that I am. And that's what matters. It's entirely up to you."

She nods along to my words, and there are tears in her eyes as she tips back her cup. Suddenly, all of this talk of explosions and bombs and murder makes me want to get so drunk I can't see. "Am I allowed to drink while I breastfeed?" I ask Prim.

She wanders over to the small refrigerator Peeta and I were given after Mason was born, so we could refrigerate my milk. There are ten bottles stockpiled. "Just not too much," she says. "Feed him from the bottles for the next couple of days, just to be safe."

As soon as the words leave her mouth, I snatch Madge's cup out of her hand and tip it back. She smiles at me, and I say, "Sorry. Talking about this stuff makes me want to dive into a bottle. The more of life I see, the more I understand Haymitch."

"He's had it rough," agrees Madge. "The Games are bad, aren't they?"

"Worse than you can imagine," I tell Madge, tipping the cup back again. I glance down at Prim, who is softly tickling my son's belly. He's smiling up at her drowsily. "But I'd do it again, to save her."

"Gale told me once that he wished he would've volunteered for Peeta," says Madge absently.

"He couldn't have," I say immediately. "Gale and I agreed, years ago, that if one of us was reaped we'd take care of each other's families. If he did, I probably never would've forgiven him."

"That's what I told him," says Madge. "This was before we were together, of course, so his rationale was that if he'd volunteered, maybe you two could've been the star-crossed lovers from District Twelve."

I snort. "That's stupid," I say. "I would've found Peeta anyway."

"Sometimes I'm jealous of you two," says Madge. I raise my eyebrows at her and reach for the bottle, filling up the cup that we share.

"You shouldn't be," I say. "You have Gale."

"I do, but you two are so sure of each other," she says. "You're like magnets, always pulled together, always moving around each other so perfectly."

"It isn't for a lack of work," I tell her earnestly. "Back when we were in Twelve, I was terrified of what we had. Sometimes, I'd lock myself away for hours, because I was so scared of being weak and helpless. Scared that I would be destroyed if he died or if he was taken away from me."

"It's pretty obvious that you two were supposed to be together," Madge points out.

"Yeah," I say absentmindedly. My eyes have wandered back down to my son and Prim. Prim lifts him up and blows raspberries on his belly. Johanna leans over to say something to Annie, who smiles at Johanna and says something back. Everything seems harmonious in this little gray compartment, and it is enough to bring peace to my heart for a moment. "Listen, Madge, Gale isn't easy to deal with sometimes. He fights dirty and can't really step outside of his own experiences and perspective. All you can do is not take any shit from him."

She doesn't say anything back, because Peeta slides the compartment door open then. He smiles down at me and kisses me before turning to look at our guests.

"I didn't know there was a party," says Peeta mildly. He musses Prim's hair on his way to the bedroom. I follow him, just because I want to wrap my arms around him, I want to feel the steady beat of his heart, I want to find refuge in his long, strong arms.

As soon as we're alone, he kisses me. It's a long, sloppy, lingering kiss that makes me want more. But I can't have more, because there are four people outside. Instead, I pull away and rest my head against his chest, where his heart beats steadily. It comforts me.

"Is it all right that you're drinking?" asks Peeta.

"I asked Prim. She said it was okay, as long as I fed Mason from his bottles for a couple of days," I tell him. I'm a little drunk.

"By all means, then. You need a break," says Peeta gently. He rubs my back with his thumbs a little, dropping kisses on my hair. "God, I love you."

"Me, too," I murmur into his chest. After a few moments of standing like this, he pulls away gently.

"I'm ruining your girls' night," says Peeta. I laugh a little bit.

"You are," I tell him. He tucks my hair behind my ears and chuckles. Glances at his watch.

"Mason is probably getting tired," he says. "Are they staying over?"

"I think so," I tell Peeta. "Is that alright?"

"Yeah, of course," he says. "Mason and I can go stay with Haymitch or something. He's been dying for more time with the baby anyway. You need some time alone with your friends and your sister. You've been working yourself so hard."

I remember Madge suddenly, so I ask Peeta, "Can you talk to Gale? He and Madge fought, and she's upset about it. He's being stubborn." I explain the situation to him briefly, and Peeta rolls his eyes when I tell him about Gale's silver spoon comment.

"He can be a real asshole," agrees Peeta. "Yeah, I'll talk to him. Probably grab Finnick before I go to Haymitch's. I'm sure he's bored out of his mind with Annie gone."

"Any progress with your brother?" I ask.

"Not really," admits Peeta. He sighs and rubs his eyes a little. "Gale isn't the only one being stubborn today. I'll tell you more in the morning."

"Okay," I tell him, leaning up to kiss him. His hands find my face and he whispers to me that he loves me. After he releases me, he stuffs a change of clothes into the bag we keep Mason's things in, and he walks out into the living room long enough to stow a few bottles in the climate-controlled pocket on the front. He puts Mason's sling around his upper body—I have to adjust it so it fits over his chest—and I tuck our sleeping infant into it, kissing his head and inhaling his milky scent. "I love you."

"I love you, Katniss," he tells me. He tugs on the end of my braid and smiles at me like I'm the only thing in the world worth looking at. Before he slides the door open, he calls, "Have a good night, ladies!"


	44. Chapter 43

** I don't own the Hunger Games. If you have any comments or suggestions, leave me a review!**

** Here's a short little chapter! I've been really busy, so I'm sorry that it's short **** A few of you have expressed concerns about who is going to die in the invasion of the Capitol. I will be leaving out a few of the more heart-wrenching deaths, but I'm also going to have to kill some new people. As much as I want everyone to escape unscathed, it just isn't realistic. I already have a couple ideas for who, I would still like your input if you have any suggestions. I hope you enjoy this chapter!**

Annie is laughing more boisterously that I ever thought possible; all of us—including Prim, since I relented to let her have a little more alcohol—are drunk. The alcohol seems to have torn down some of Annie's wall, and she seems almost completely sane. She runs a brown hand through her long, curly hair and tells me, "You have to take him to Four."

"Yeah, hopefully," I say back with a hiccup. "He'll be the most well-travelled baby in Panem."

"He probably already is," quips Johanna. The television is on, but we aren't paying any attention to it. It's odd, the kind of bedfellows you make in war. I would've never thought, before the Quell, that Johanna Mason would be my best friend. I'd have called them crazy if someone told me that I'd have a tentative friendship with Annie Cresta. But here we are, laughing and talking like we've known each other for years.

Annie is doing something to Prim's hair, but she won't let us see until she's done. Prim leans against Annie's strong legs, and Johanna and I's shoulders are propped against each other. Madge is tipping the dredges of the bottle into her cup and swallowing it back. Somehow, I think she's using Haymitch's strategy to drink until she feels better.

"Madge, Gale's a dick," says Johanna waspishly, her voice still cutting and sharp despite the alcohol. "Don't pay it too much mind."

"Yeah, but I'm different than you," slurs Madge. She hiccups and scoots closer to us. "I don't know how to stop taking everything so personally." She gets up and cracks the seal on a second bottle. I don't stop her, because to be honest, I'd like more to drink. It isn't often that you can have fun, be free and careless, during a war. When she sits back down, she says, her voice coming out like a delicate whine, "I'm sensitive."

"Listen, when Katniss tells me that I'm a crazy bitch, I know she doesn't mean it," says Johanna. Her voice softens a bit when she looks at Madge and adds, "People say things they don't mean when they're mad."

Annie's hands grow still on Prim's hair, and I think she's about to have a flashback. But she just adds softly, almost like she expects everyone to tune her out, "You wouldn't believe some of the things Finnick and I have said to each other. People often strike out at the people they love most."

Madge thinks about that for a while and tips the bottle into her cup. Conversation picks back up, and Madge seems to let go of her anger at Gale. After a few moments, her voice joins the others and her laughter bounces off the walls Like when my family met my son for the first time, I'm a little awestruck at the small pieces of happiness we've managed to create in this dreary world of nightmares. They are little pebbles strewn along a dusty road, left behind for us to pick up in our war-torn sadness. Still, they are there.

My nightmares still haunt me every night. By now, the things I've seen in my seventeen and a half years of life—children dying by my hands, children dying by the hands of other children, murdering people I had come to know and like, being responsible for the death of my district, everything, every brutal and gut-wrenching thing—are too traumatic for me to ever recover. But I'm not alone in this; Peeta knows, Peeta has survived everything I have. He's haunted by the same visions, both when his eyes are closed and when they are open. Johanna, Finnick, Haymitch, Annie—the list goes on and on. None of us will ever truly recover.

But we find solace in the happiness we're given, the laughter and joy we create amidst the rubble of these desperate times. We find solace in each other. We stare into my small son's blue eyes in wonder, reveling in the knowledge that birth and beginnings can occur in times such as these. Without thinking about it—without letting the walls I spent sixteen years building go up—I wrap one of my arms around Johanna and let my head drop onto her shoulder. Though I have plenty for which to be thankful—being alive, Peeta, my son, my entire family and everyone I love—in this moment, I am particularly thankful for her. My father told me once, a long time ago before I understood what exactly he meant, that it's better to walk in darkness with a friend than to walk alone in the dark. I guess I thought what he meant was it's better to have someone there than to be alone. But amidst the ruins of our awful world, I finally understand what he meant. Johanna, through everything—through our screaming arguments and sharp insults, through our nightmares and the faces of everyone we've killed appear, burned into our retinas—still walks with me, hand-in-hand through the darkness, refusing to leave me behind. Staunchly, stubbornly insisting she stay with me through every hellish vision we have, facing the night and the darkness together. In many ways, I've never had a friend like her.

She leans her head down so it rests on mine and she pats my leg. Though we are both drunk, I think she understands what I'm trying to tell her with my faint embrace. _Thank you for staying with me, for being my friend. Thank you for standing with me, for staring down the horrors of my mind with me._

We sit like this for a long time, not speaking, just listening to the chatter of a high-pitched thirteen year old voice, listening to Madge and Annie's drunk, chuckling replies. My free hand finds hers, and a rush of gratefulness hits me like a ton of bricks. I did nothing to deserve these awe-inspiring people in my life. Maybe I'm not worthy of them—it's a mixed bag—but I am thankful for them every moment I live and breathe.

Eventually, Annie's fingers leave Prim's hair, and she smiles at us. Tells Prim to turn around. Annie's long, deft fingers have coiled two impossibly intricate braids—can I even call them that? It's so complicated—on each side of Prim's head, and they meet somewhere at the back of her head, joining and twisting together until the one braid, beautiful and intricate, falls over the rest of Prim's wavy hair, loose and flowing.

"Where did you learn that, Annie?" asks Madge.

"Hair is no different than rope," is all she says. After a moment, she says, "I can make an entire net in three and a half minutes. Hair is pretty easy after that."

I laugh a little at that, and tell Prim, "You look beautiful, little duck."

She smiles up at me, looking simultaneously older and younger than she really is. But her eyes aren't yet haunted by the same horrors that the rest of us have seen. They are big, and a little sad, but they aren't flush with the ghosts and memories of so many people dead and lost. Forgotten. There are only two people that I know whose eyes are devoid of these ghosts: Prim and my son. The thin lines of her face make me fiercely determined that her eyes never have to witness the things I've seen, the things Peeta's seen, the things Johanna's seen.

I want to hug her so tightly she can't breathe, but I know that would embarrass her. So I just set my hand gently on her beautifully braided hair and say, a little drunkenly, "Don't tell Mom I let you drink."

She laughs and tells me that she would never, and the rest of the night passes in contentedness and joy, laughter and happy conversation. When Prim is finally shuddering with yawns, I send her to Johanna's bed. She tells me that she feels bad taking Johanna's bed, but Johanna insists that it's fine. Prim knows by now that if she were to sleep in the same bed with me, my nightmares and my thrashing would wake her up. So after Johanna shouts down her protests, Prim settles in soft blue duvet of Johanna's bed.

After another hour or two of laughter and conversation, Johanna and I decide to turn in, sharing Peeta's and my bed. I tell Madge and Annie that one of them could get in with Prim and the other can take the couch, but they insist that they want to stay up a little while longer. I raise my eyebrows, a little curiously, but don't push the issue. If Annie and Madge have struck a chord within each other, and a friendship is blooming, I'm not going to protest. Annie, though perfectly sane most of the time, is isolated. While she's unbalanced and a little strange, I get the feeling that her isolation is, for the most part, self-imposed. Maybe she's been wounded too deeply to bear herself to anyone, maybe she's afraid of people knowing her, just to run off. It seems almost the opposite of the fears that Johanna and I are plagued by. We are both afraid of loving people just to have them snatched away, have them die. But Annie is afraid that the people she lets in will be so put off by her that they will choose to leave. She is afraid of having no control over herself, and driving people away because of it. I am afraid of having no control over the world, and having people stolen because of it. I'm not sure which is more bleak and pessimistic.

I give Annie a sad smile, and in a moment of true companionship, set a careful hand on her curly hair before going into my room with Johanna. We talk late into the night, about the Games, about how miserable the world is, about how strange it is that happiness can actually exist in places like this. About my son. About Meetchum. About Peeta.

Eventually, our quiet words fade away and our chests rise in slower rhythms. Our hearts slow down and our eyes close, but our hands still stay clenched together, as if we are desperate not to be torn away from each other.

PB

On Monday morning, I am grudgingly pulled from sleep by Peeta's soft voice. He tells me that Finnick is here, that I have to wake up for training. After a lazy, impossibly happy Sunday with only Peeta and Mason, the last thing I want to do is tear myself away from them, from my perfect little family.

But when I open my eyes and see my son nestled against Peeta's strong chest, fast asleep, when I see Peeta's eyes moving from Mason to me in reverent and all-consuming love, I remember why I have to train. Why I have to fight.

After I take Mason from Peeta gently and he goes to get his schedule, I ask, "So what do you have today?"

"I'm in Command and production most of today. Oh, and I guess I'm going to Twelve with Cinna today," he tells me quietly, lifting Mason backs into his arms and settling him against his chest again. Well, that's another thing I forgot about. Going to Twelve to get wedding clothes for Annie and Finnick. I want to groan. Not only will I be training today, but I will also have to endure a trip back to my smoking, destroyed district. "We'll be alright."

"I know you will be," I sigh. "I hate being away from you two."

"Only a few more weeks," he reminds me.

"Then you and I will be in the Capitol," I say wearily.

"One step closer to a new world," Peeta says gently.

"I love you," I whisper, standing up and tossing on my training uniform. After I'm dressed, my fingers move through my hair, tucking it into a neat braid. He smiles up at me, that reverent, near-religious love in his eyes, and his hands glide over our son's back. I look at both of them, more unwilling than ever to leave them.

"I love you," he tells me. "So much I think it will actually kill me sometimes."

After giving him a kiss and letting my lips fall on Mason's head, after I breathe in the smell of my son, I go to the door of our bedroom. Before leaving, I look over my shoulder and say, "Stay alive."

Then I leave, scowling at an exhausted-looking Finnick and heading for our early breakfast.

"Why do you look so tired?" I ask.

"Bad night," he whispers. "Why do _you_ look so tired?"

"I have a month-old son," I snap irritably.

"Oh, that's right," laughs Finnick. Despite my exhaustion and sour mood, the sound of his laugh makes me smile a little. "Annie had a really good time the other night. Thanks for inviting her."

"It's no problem," I say honestly. "What time are we supposed to go to Twelve today? It was on Peeta's arm." I look down at my arm and see that there is nothing scheduled into my day that isn't training. I frown.

"We aren't going to Twelve anymore," says Finnick, annoyed. "Instead, Plutarch is sending Cinna and Portia with Peeta and Annie. Says he doesn't want to interrupt our training."

"I wish he would," I grumble. "I'm tired."

"Me, too," agrees Finnick.

"I'm kind of relieved, though. It doesn't get easier, going back to Twelve," I say quietly. I'm not embarrassed to admit this weakness to Finnick; he, Johanna, and Peeta are some of the only people I can be weak in front of. He nudges me with my shoulder, like he's telling me that he understands. He doesn't need to say the words out loud. So I change the subject. "When _is_ the wedding, by the way?"

"I don't know," says Finnick. "Plutarch and that Coin woman haven't ironed out the details."

It always amuses me how Finnick refers to Coin almost exclusively as 'that Coin woman.' I know he doesn't mean it in a rude, misogynistic way. He just doesn't like her much.

"Why not?" I ask dryly as we clamber out of the elevators and trudge our way to the cafeteria. "Is Coin still protesting against the 'unnecessary expenditure' of having a dinner for the guests?" My words are dripping with sarcasm, and Finnick snorts.

"Probably," he says, laughing. "Plutarch's really pushing for a Capitol wedding. Alcohol included."

"I bet Haymitch is backing him up on that," I say darkly, but drop the subject when Finnick pushes open the doors to the cafeteria. We scan our schedules and get our food, settling into our usual table; at the early hour, however, it is devoid of all our usual friends. Because we are training, we get up earlier. We have earlier breakfast. In our friends' place are some of our classmates from Thirteen; they eye us curiously, but don't speak to us. We are still something of an oddity here. I shrug to myself. The less people that talk to me, the happier I am.

Finnick and I make idle conversation, mostly about our wedding. We are almost finished with our breakfast when he asks, "So did Johanna work it out with Peeta's brother yet?"

I frown at him and ask, "How did you know about that?"

Finnick rolls his eyes at me and says, in an impeccable impression of Johanna, "How do you think, brainless?"

"Oh," I say. "I thought Annie might've told you. Guess not."

"Annie tends to be pretty trustworthy," Finnick reminds me. "Isn't a big fan of idle gossip. Probably because the subject of her mental health has been discussed by the entire country."

"Sorry," I mumble to my breakfast of hot grain.

"It's fine," Finnick waves my apology away. "Johanna came and ranted to me about it yesterday morning. Then she stormed off before I could say anything."

I snort and say, "That's Johanna for you." After spooning the rest the grain in my mouth and licking the spoon, I throw back the rest of my milk and pick up my tray. Finnick stuffs his bread in his mouth and follows suit. As we're walking out of the cafeteria, I say, "No, I don't think so. Johanna doesn't think it's his place to go to the Capitol."

"Johanna's an idiot," says Finnick. "The kid wants to contribute. He wants to do something. It isn't her fault that she doesn't understand it."

I frown at Finnick and remind him, "Johanna _does _understand it. But she also understands that danger is pretty foreign to Meetch. She thinks he'll get himself killed because he won't know how to handle it."

"Johanna has a pretty nasty habit of underestimating people," retorts Finnick.

"That isn't true."

Before I can argue anymore, Finnick says, "Katniss, you know that I love Johanna. I'm not badmouthing her."

"I know you aren't," I counter. "But I don't think that she underestimates people. I just think that she's so cautious about the people she cares about that she doesn't trust anyone but herself to keep them safe."

"I guess," sighs Finnick. "God, we're talking about happy subjects this morning."

"What can I say? I'm an optimistic, cheery person," I deadpan sarcastically. Finnick laughs, and our sour argument dissipates into the chilly underground air. We reach the exit to the outside, and we look at each other, our smiles dropping off of our faces. Another day of pushing ourselves past new limits. Another day of thinking and worrying about what'll happen when we get to the Capitol. Another day of being away from the people that we love. Eventually, Finnick takes my hand gently and opens the trapdoor.

"Let's go," he says, his voice already exhausted.

"Yeah," I agree, and as we step into the damp, cold air around District Thirteen, the faces of the people I love flash in front of me, driving my body forward. Madge. Gale. Cinna. Mom. Haymitch. Finnick. Johanna. Prim. Mason. Peeta.


	45. Chapter 44

** I don't own the Hunger Games. If you have any comments or suggestions, leave me a review!**

Prim and Madge are wearing nice dresses, plucked from my closet in Twelve and altered to fit them. After a week of negotiations, Plutarch and Coin came to an agreement about the wedding. There will be no alcohol and no dinner, but there will be a lavish ceremony—as lavish as Thirteen gets—and a reception with cake and dancing. Plutarch recruited the children of Thirteen to sing District Four's wedding song and, starving for a little fun, nearly every child in Thirteen is going to be singing.

Prim and Madge are going to be Annie's bridesmaids, while Peeta and Haymitch will be standing behind Finnick. I've never seen Finnick as excited as he was this morning, pale and shaking. When I asked him what was the matter, he just said, "I've been waiting for this day for a long time."

While everyone is getting prepped—Prim insisted their prep happen in my compartment—Johanna and I sit cross-legged on the couch, passing Mason back and forth. For a six and a half week old baby, he's amazingly content to be shuffled from person to person. He has favorites, though; aside from Peeta and me, he likes Johanna and Gale best, mostly because they see him more often than anyone else. But it's a tight race between Prim, my mother, Haymitch, and Finnick. That isn't to say that he _doesn't_ like anyone. He's happy as a clam with any one of the thousand people who love him. His eyes get bluer every day, and his eyebrows have changed so their shape looks more like Peeta.

Because he's certain to be featured in the propo they're making of the wedding, Cinna has nestled Mason into a handsome blue outfit. Coin doesn't protest that he hardly ever wears the standard gray onesie he was given, because even she is taken with him. Even Johanna and I were given a pass to wear something other than the awful gray that's standard in Thirteen. We both wear simple dresses—not fancy, like the ones that the Annie, Madge and Prim will wear, but the type of dress you'd wear on a picnic during the warm summer months.

Cinna hasn't touched Annie yet; apparently, it's traditional to get the bride ready last. The dress she's wearing—a sea green dress I wore some time during my Victory Tour—is draped over the back of a chair, and Annie is braiding Prim's hair like she did at our 'girl's night,' at Prim's request. Prim's wearing pink today, while Madge is in a blue ensemble. Were I given to jealousy, I would be green with envy at how beautiful they are. But I'm not, so I just sit on the couch with Johanna and hand out encouraging compliments.

"Things any better with Gale, Madge?" I ask, as Cinna is wrapping a wand around her straight, beautiful blond hair.

"Not really," she says, frowning a little bit.

"Peeta said that Gale wasn't really that upset with you," I tell her. Peeta did talk to Gale like I had asked him to. According to Peeta, Gale was just being stubborn. He wanted her to back his bomb idea, and was angry because she didn't. Because she didn't senselessly hate every man, woman, and child in the Capitol. But Peeta also said that Gale readily admitted that he knows Madge is different than him. So they're at an impasse.

"I just don't understand how he thinks that I'm like the people in the Capitol just because I was the mayor's daughter and because I don't want to murder them all," says Madge lightly. She doesn't sound overly upset, and I think maybe she's being stubborn, too. Neither one of them wants to be the first to lay down arms and apologize. Wrinkling her brow, she adds to Cinna, "Not that there's anything wrong with you, Cinna. You're wonderful."

Cinna grins at her and sets a hand on her shoulder. "You're forgiven," he says with a light chuckle.

"I didn't mean to offend you," apologizes Madge.

"You didn't," laughs Cinna.

"I'm going to go talk to him," I say. "There's still a couple of hours before the wedding."

"Leave Mason with me," snaps Johanna.

"Don't start this again," I tell her, annoyance creeping into my voice. "I'm sick to death of you two fighting over him. He isn't a toy. You live with him, Johanna, get over it."

Before Madge can protest too loudly about me talking to Gale, I've strapped Mason against my chest, thrown his bag over my shoulder, and prance into the hallway. I hear Madge groan from behind the door, but I try not to pay it any mind. Gale and Madge are my friends, and if they're not going to talk to each other, I'm going to try and fix it.

The hallways are crowded this afternoon, probably because of the wedding. Three hundred lucky citizens of Thirteen scored invitations to the wedding, though I suspect that a lot more are going to try and sneak in. People bustle by me and mumble apologies when they see who I am. I try to smile at them reassuringly, but having this many people around my son makes me panicky. Finally, I manage to extricate myself from a crowd near Gale's compartment, and quiet my crying baby. I know he's getting hungry, but I don't want to feed him in this hallway. Even thinking about it makes my skin crawl with discomfort. So I let him cry as I approach Gale's compartment, and knock three times on the door. It's so loud it sounds like gunshots. I wince.

Gale opens the door a few seconds later, and I rush inside, desperate to get away from these gawking people. He looks at me with a bemused expression, and as soon as unbuckle the sling and get Mason out, he holds his hands out to take him.

"He's hungry," I say tiredly. "Let me feed him and then you can have him."

"Alright," says Gale, but he averts his eyes awkwardly. I've fed the baby in front of Gale before, but never when it was just him and I. As soon as I see the flush in his cheeks, I start to get uncomfortable, too. Is Gale over me yet?

"I can do it in the bathroom, if you want," I say pointedly.

"It's fine," he says, his eyes still on the gray carpet. I shrug, though I feel defensive, and toss a blanket over my shoulder and tug down the top of my green dress. When Mason starts eating, I look at Gale. He still isn't meeting my eyes, but there's no point in beating around the bush.

"Gale, whatever is going on between you and Madge needs to stop," I scold. "Madge loves you, and all you're doing is hurting her by not trying to fix it."

"She isn't trying either," snaps Gale.

"I wouldn't either, if you'd said that to me," I snap back. He finally meets my eyes, and though he's beet red, his eyes are stubborn. "Yeah, that wasn't very nice of you."

"Stop involving yourself," says Gale. "It has nothing to do with you."

I have to fight to keep my voice controlled, but finally I manage to say, "Yeah, Gale, it does."

"She doesn't understand!" storms Gale, finally losing his composure, standing up and pacing around the room. "She didn't have to take out tesserae every year, she never had to worry about her name being pulled out of those damn bowls, she didn't have to struggle the way we had!"

"What does that have to do with your bomb?" I ask baldly.

"If she'd grown up the way we did," he says, annoyed, moving his index finger between us, "she'd probably agree with me. She'd probably hate them the way we do."

"She does hate them," I tell Gale. "If she didn't, she wouldn't have trained so she could fight them. She wouldn't have believed you and my family as soon as you told her to run, before the Capitol destroyed Twelve. If she didn't hate them, she would have thought that the Capitol wouldn't do something so awful."

"I just can't help thinking that if it were you," and as soon as the words leave his mouth, I can't resist rolling my eyes. This again. He scowls at me and repeats, "_If_ it were you, you would agree with me."

"Gale, are you stupid?" I ask angrily, not able to control my voice any longer. Mason starts under the blanket and starts to make whiny little sounds. I bounce him a bit until he calms down and returns to feeding, and I look back at Gale. "Gale, I _don't_ agree with you. I didn't agree with you in Two, when you wanted to kill everyone in that mountain. And I don't agree with you now."

"Then you're a different girl from the one I used to hunt in the woods with," he says scathingly, and I wince a little. This is a unique quality Gale has: he can throw a string of words at you, knowing exactly where to hit you the hardest, knowing how to inflict pain. I look at him, wiping any emotion from my eyes, even though he's right. I am a different girl from the one who used to share her every secret with him in the woods. That girl was mostly whole, mostly undamaged, mostly safe. That girl wasn't afraid of everything, wasn't terrified every waking second. That girl wasn't a murderer, that girl wasn't destroyed by the Games.

"That was a low blow, and you know it," I say quietly, still looking at him steadily. After a moment of him glaring fiercely at me, he finally directs his eyes at the carpet.

"Sorry," he mumbles.

"It's fine," I say. "This isn't about me, Gale. Just because Madge disagrees with you doesn't mean she doesn't hate the Capitol. She just has a higher regard for human life than you do. Don't give me that look, Gale, you know it's true."

"It's just that Madge is so smart, she has this gift," says Gale. "She knows people, she knows how they'll react. She has an instinct for it. Because of that, she knows that a weapon like this could be invaluable."

"Yeah, she probably does know that," I counter. "But even in war, you get to choose who to be. Madge doesn't want to be responsible for killing innocent people."

"They aren't innocent," says Gale.

"Gale, you've never seen the way those people live," I retort angrily. "If you'd grown up in the Capitol and always had enough to eat, always had everything you wanted, you'd believe anything Snow told you, too! They're a product of their environment. That doesn't make them guilty."

"How are you so sure?" he asks.

"For the love of God, Gale, because I've _been_ there! I've been to the Capitol, and I've met more of them than I can count. They're stupid and shallow, sure, but they aren't the ones who are guilty for the Games. They didn't create the Games, they didn't burn Twelve to the ground," I rant. "Yeah, there's no love lost between me and the people of the Capitol. But that doesn't mean I want all of them dead."

Mason detaches from my breast, and I button my shirt up quickly and toss the blanket off of me so I can burp him. He only coughs up a little bit of the white stuff, and as soon as he gives me a gummy little smile, I kiss his little face and hand him to Gale. As soon as Gale starts bounding Mason around, the angry flush leaves his cheeks. We're quiet for a long time; Gale flies Mason around the room like he's a bird, and I watch them carefully. Not because I don't trust Gale, but because the chubby lines of Mason's face are irresistible

"Where's Peeta?" asks Gale after a while.

"Getting ready for the wedding," I answer. My eyes still swing back and forth, following my son's small body. "He's Finnick's best man, or something. I don't know."

After another few minutes of silence, Gale opens his mouth hesitantly and asks, "Do you and Peeta ever have problems like this?"

I sigh, and run a hand through my hair. I don't want to admit that Peeta and I have fought more times than I can count, because I feel that somehow Gale will use it as fodder to prove he's right. But I still tell him, "Yeah, we used to have problems. Not so much anymore."

"What kind of problems?" asks Gale.

"I don't know, Gale, weird ones. I'd get scared of how I felt about him and I'd shut myself away for a little while. That would cause problems, because Peeta didn't understand why I did. And I was too afraid of looking stupid to explain it to him for a long time. We'd both freak out if the other left for too long, because of how afraid the Games made us," I say tiredly.

"How did you get over it?" asks Gale.

"Gale, you're always going to fight with the person you love. It doesn't just go away. But I guess we just—I don't know, we love each other too much to let things fall apart because of how fucked up we are from the Games," I explain. "Do you love Madge?"

"Yes," he tells me, averting his eyes like he thinks his answer will hurt me. "All those months ago, you were right, Katniss. I love her more than I ever thought I could love someone."

I want to sag in relief, because all these months, I wasn't quite sure if Gale still felt something for me. Even though I was fairly certain he'd moved on and loved Madge, I still wasn't sure. It's a relief to know that anything that could've been between Gale and me is in the past.

"Madge isn't wrong about any of this," I say quietly. "It's wrong to kill innocent people, and you know that I know better than anyone else that killing someone is always, without fail, personal. All of that aside, you need to decide what's more important. Her, or your need to be right all the time."

"That isn't a decision," says Gale, resigned.

"Good," I say. "Then why haven't you tried to fix it?"

"She just seemed to distance herself from me," says Gale. He looks down at Mason fondly, and the pad of his strong thumb brushes a bit of drool away from Mason's mouth. Though I never loved Gale in this way, it's still nice to see how much he loves my son.

"Because you practically implied that she was like the people in the Capitol," I chide. I glance over at Gale's clock, and realize that I should get back to my compartment so Johanna and I can head to the wedding. "Talk to her, Gale. After the wedding."

Gale nods and helps me pack a sleeping Mason into my sling, and offers to walk me back to my compartment. Because he's big and can shove people out of the way better, I nod my assent. Without Mason, I do alright pushing people out of the way. But I can't do it with his tiny sleeping body against my chest.

Gale does an admirable job keeping people away from us, and I'm back in front of my compartment in half the time it took me to fight my way to Gale's. His large hand touches Mason's head light, and Gale pulls me into a one-armed hug.

"Thank you, Catnip," he tells me. I squeeze him a little tighter before I pull away from him.

"You're always going to be my best friend, Gale," I tell him. "And I'll always be here to talk the stupid out of you."

He laughs a little throatily and runs his fingers over Mason's face before turning to go, waving at me as he walks away.

PB

Annie's caramel skin pales a little bit as we near the big room that Coin usually uses for national assemblies. She truly looks beyond belief; Cinna has fashioned her long, curly hair into an elegant braided bun, and though she doesn't need makeup, he's made her even more beautiful with simple swipes of makeup here and there. I give her an uncharacteristic hug as she paces by the door.

"Congratulations," I whisper in her ear. I pull away and hug Prim, too, before Johanna and I take Mason inside. We try to find an inconspicuous spot near the back, but Plutarch spots us immediately and pulls us to the front row. Scowling, I settle into a chair by my mother and let her hold the baby.

Mason has surpassed all of the developmental milestones that Dr. Borley set for him. At six and a half weeks old, he's holding his head up on his own. I worry that there's something wrong with him—after all, I thought babies basically laid in their mother's arms and did nothing else for the first year of life—but she's assured me that some babies are just more developed than others. My mother holds him against her chest and he turns his head to the side, looking around curiously. He makes a babyish noise when Finnick walks over and smiles at him. Already Mason is crazy about his Uncle Finnick. I stand up and give Finnick a hug. So does Johanna.

"You look great," I say, grinning at him.

"I always do," he scoffs. He stays with us a little longer, smiling the whole time, like this is the best day of his life. It probably is. Until Mason was born, the day I married Peeta was the best day of my life, too. Eventually, Plutarch ushers Finnick back to his place at the altar, a manic look in his eyes. I make a mental note to steer clear of Plutarch for the rest of the night and settle back in next to Johanna.

More people shuffle in until the chairs are full. Beetee rolls himself next to Johanna, which is nice, because we don't see that much of Beetee outside of Command. Finally, the choir of Thirteen's children pick up a song that is unfamiliar, but beautiful in its own right. It's a gentle song that likens marriage to a sea voyage, and we turn around to see Haymitch and Madge walking up the aisle, arm in arm, following by Peeta and Prim, who grin at each other mischievously. When he catches my eye, he winks at me. He looks strong and beautiful, as radiant as the sun. My heart jumps a little in my chest.

As the song enters its second verse, Annie comes strolling up the narrow aisle, not smiling, but looking down at Finnick like the sight of him is keeping her alive. I glance back at Finnick while everyone is looking at Annie. He's smiling so widely it looks like his face will break from the joy of it, and silent tears run down his face. There are thousands of emotions present in his green eyes, but the most prominent is love, overwhelming love. Love so strong it feels like a human presence among us.

Dalton, a man from Ten, officiates the ceremony, because the wedding ceremony in Ten is similar to the one in Four. I get a peculiar sense of déjà vu as I watch Finnick and Annie staring at each other in wonder, their eyes wide and unafraid. For a moment, I think maybe I'm thinking of Peeta and I's wedding in the Capitol, where hundreds of people sat in a room bigger and more resplendent than this one, watching us profess our love for each other. But as they read their vows to each other and Finnick's voice breaks over the word 'always,' I realize that I'm thinking of a different wedding, in a different district, surrounded by the greens and deep golds of early spring. One in a sunlit meadow, where I realized that I'd never be able to live without Peeta, where I realized that the vision of his face—haloed by the sun and so beautiful it took my breath away and so _emotional_ I could feel it emanating from his body—would be seared into my memory forever, so powerful even now that I feel as though my heart will burst with the power of it.

Annie's gravelly voice reads out her own vows, and like me, she does not cry. She just holds her eyes steady on Finnick's, and I can almost hear the words that seem to be written in their green, words that I've often conveyed to Peeta with my own eyes. _We're in this together._ A smile, unbidden, rises to my lips, because it's so unbelievably heartening to realize that love is still a force powerful enough to move mountains. It is still abundant in our shell-shocked world, it is still what grounds most of us. I feel Johanna squeeze my hand tightly as Dalton tosses a grass-woven net over Finnick and Annie's heads, and my eyes wander to Peeta. He is smiling widely, his eyes glassy, happiness written into every line of his face. Almost as if he senses my eyes, he turns a little bit and catches my gaze. His smile widens just a little bit, and so does mine. In a room full of people, in the midst of a wedding, we share a small, private moment, we exchange words with our eyes. Almost absentmindedly, Peeta taps his chest, right over his heart.

"I love you," he mouths at me. My own hand finds my heart and I smile back at him before he repositions his eyes on Annie and Finnick. Salt water is dropped on their lips, and they kiss for the first time as husband and wife. I have to wonder if they feel the same way I did when I married Peeta: like they are being born again.

PB

The photo-ops are nearly unbearable. Plutarch insisted that the entire night be made into a propo, unsurprisingly. But he's also broken out a normal, photographic camera and is forcing all of us to take pictures. First, Peeta and me with the happy couple. Then Annie and Finnick with my son, then all three of us. The rest of the victors are shoved into individual photos with them, then we are all grouped into 'victor photo,' as Plutarch calls it. I quickly realize that this is why I was allowed to wear something other than Thirteen gray.

Soon enough, Cressida and Messalla start instructing me to give Mason to each of my victor friends for a photo. I don't like it, but I realized a while ago that Coin had always intended on using our son as another face to fight for. And I can't fight with her. So I let it happen. After a while, it occurs to me that we have no photos of our son, none of our friends or our family. So I pull Cressida aside and ask, "Do you think you could get me copies of all these pictures?"

"Sure," she says agreeably, waving her hand to Beetee, who gently lifts Mason up to Haymitch. "Do you want a picture of only you three?"

"Yeah," I say. Another shouted directive, and Mason is held tightly against Peeta's chest, face turned towards the camera. As I walk towards him, Peeta smiles down at me, almost like he's seeing me for the first time.

"Do you actually know how much I love you?" he asks as he wraps an arm around me. I twine my own arm around his waist and let my other hand find Mason. His fingers immediately wrap around my index finger, and an overwhelming sense of wholeness washes over me. This is somewhere I was meant to be, in a safe place, surrounded by people that love us, with Peeta and our son. More than ever before, I know with an alarming certainty that we would have found ourselves here with or without the Games. I let my head lean against Peeta's chest, just a little, and he whispers, "Smile, sweetheart," in my ear.

It isn't hard, not with the crushing happiness that has settled into my bones. I manage a genuine smile at the camera that Messalla is pointing at us, and try not to blink at the flash. After he snaps one or two more, I whisper back to Peeta, "Do you know how much I love _you?_"

I lift Mason out of his arms and settle him against my chest, the sound of his little breaths grounding me completely. Peeta places his hand on the back of my neck and pulls me in for a sloppy kiss, which of course sets the camera flashing again. I don't mind as much I normally would. Let Panem have their star-crossed lovers one more time. It won't kill anyone.

When the photo-ops are finally done and Peeta and I finish telling the camera how happy we are for Annie and Finnick, the reception starts. One man made it out of Twelve with his fiddle, and Plutarch insists that he play a song just for Annie and Finnick. The people of Thirteen and the rest of us circles the makeshift dance floor, watching them move around each other like they'd been doing it their entire lives. They are so close together that it's difficult to tell where Finnick ends and Annie begins, but I can tell that neither of them would have it any other way. After a minute or two of this, Plutarch pushes Peeta and me towards the floor, and I scowl at him, my frown so deep I think it'll etch into my face permanently. But Peeta saves the day, twirling me into his arms with surprising grace.

"This is ridiculous," I tell him, but move closer because I haven't seen nearly enough of him today and I've missed the warm lines of his body. "It's supposed to be Annie and Finnick's day. Not ours."

"After a year and a half, the country still can't get enough of us," he muses, looking down at me with a smile. "You look beautiful."

I scoff and roll my eyes at him. "Cinna did nothing to me except that stuff they put on eyelashes. And he made me keep my hair down."

"You don't need any of that to be beautiful," Peeta tells me, pulling me closer so he can drop a kiss on my lips.

"Thanks," I sigh, when he pulls away. "You, though. You look perfect."

"Thank you, sweetheart," he tells me gently. We look around the dance floor and realize we are as close to each other as Finnick and Annie are. A few more people have been ushered out here, including Prim and Johanna, who giggle together, pretending to be Annie and Finnick. I wrinkle my nose in their direction and Peeta laughs. Cinna and Portia are here, too, and Madge is dancing with Haymitch. "Gale looks happy," chuckles Peeta. I glance over in the direction Peeta's indicating and see Gale at the edge of the dancefloor, Mason tucked in his arms. Gale is looking at Madge with a curious expression on his face. On one hand, when he rakes his eyes over her, there's a certain tenderness and awe in his expression, which is unsurprising because she looks beautiful. On the other hand, when his eyes fall to Haymitch's hand on her back, sourness twists his expression. Eventually, he scowls and takes Mason over to my mother. He disappears for a moment, but I'm surprised when I see him reappear at Madge's side, saying something low and quiet to Haymitch. Haymitch takes his leave and pulls both my mother and Mason on the dance floor. It's odd watching them, because they almost feel like my real parents, laughing and fawning over my infant son.

Something horrifying occurs to me and I whisper, "Oh no, what if my mom and Haymitch are seeing each other?"

"Then you'd have to start calling him 'dad' for real," says Peeta. "Ugh. That's gross."

I laugh then, because it _is_ gross. Haymitch is a surly old drunk and I love him, but I never want to consider the possibility of him and my mother. Our dance passes by quickly, and another one is struck up after. We try to get away from the floor, but Plutarch catches us and shoves us back out.

Throughout the night, Mason is passed from person to person, and the songs get faster and faster, until Johanna and Prim are pulling on my arms so hard I think they'll rip out of the sockets, forcing me to dance again and again.

"Don't you want to see Snow see you dance?" propositions Johanna, and though I'm a little annoyed at her, it's heartening to know that Snow will be sitting in his mansion, preparing for the invasion of his city, and he'll see me dancing with my sister and my best friend. The thought makes me grin.

I dance with Finnick and Haymitch and Gale and practically everyone; by the time they roll out the cake, I'm so exhausted I could fall asleep standing up. Peeta's baked up an absolute masterpiece of a cake; it's an ocean scene, with fish and other sea creatures dancing over the green-blue surf and white tipped waves. Like everything that Peeta does, it's so beautiful it takes my breath away.

Though I tell Peeta not to, he dips his finger in frosting and lets Mason suckle on it. It's obvious to anyone paying attention that Mason is Peeta's pride and joy. That he worships Mason. That his face glows whenever his name is mentioned, whenever he tells Beetee or Haymitch or whoever that Mason can practically hold his head up on his own. Though I never really wanted children, I am glad that Peeta is Mason's father. I'm glad that Mason is surrounded by Peeta's crushing love, and to my credit, my own as well.

I excuse myself a little while later, because Mason is hungry and he's been awake far longer than he would be any other night. Everyone continues to socialize, but I extricate myself from the crowd and try to make my way home. Shortly after I notice that I can't spot Madge and Gale in the big room, I wander into the hallway and find them. Madge leans against a wall, looking up at Gale with stars in her eyes. His forearm is on the wall above her, and his head leans down. Their noses brush against each other, and when I finally catch sight of the look in Gale's eyes, I feel like I'm intruding on an extremely intimate moment. He is staring at Madge like he's a blind man seeing the world for the first time.

I try to back up into the wedding room without them noticing, but even my smallest, most discreet movements set off Gale's hunter's senses. I flush a deep red and mumble an apology, but Madge just says, "Where are you going, Katniss?"

"I have to go home," I tell her. Neither of them look remotely embarrassed, so I add, "Mason's hungry and tired."

"We could take him," says Madge immediately. "You and Peeta deserve a break."

"No, no, it's alright," I mumble. Truthfully, the sheer amount of people at the party who have talked to me and bothered me has gotten to be too much. I just want to escape to somewhere quiet, somewhere I can be alone with my baby. "You two have . . . fun," I say awkwardly, and though I try to get away quickly, Madge grabs my wrist and hugs me.

"You're a good friend," she whispers in my ear.

"So are you," I say back, feeling slightly less awkward. I wave at Gale after I pull away and try to quiet Mason's cries as I walk, but it isn't easy. He's really hungry and I'm sure he's exhausted. He couldn't really sleep much at the wedding or reception, because so many people were passing him back and forth, and there was so much noise. He wasn't grumpy during the party—he's already a people pleaser, like Peeta—but now that we're out of sight of his worshippers—my friends and family—he's releasing the full extent of his rage.

"Sorry, kid," I murmur to him, stroking his hair gently. This usually quiets him a little, but it doesn't now. I should've taken him home hours ago, but everyone wanted to see him so badly. People like Beetee and Chaff and Boggs don't get to spend a lot of time with him normally, and they all wanted to keep him to themselves. Coin even held him, and smiled at the camera Messalla pointed at her, my son tucked into her arms.

Mason cries louder, and it makes me desperate, because I don't know how to make him stop. The sound is piercing, and I stop walking, though I'm close to home, so I can take him out of his little sling and bounce him in my arms, humming to him. It isn't until he quiets down that I realize that I've been humming that strange song that Annie always sings to him, though I can't remember the words. It's an odd little tune, more fluid and melodic than the songs we sing in Twelve, and almost sounds like a song the ocean itself would sing. Whatever it is, Mason has always liked it, whether Annie's rough, low voice croons to him or my own.

As he calms down a little, I stuff the sling awkwardly into Mason's bag and carry him in the crook of my right arm until we get home. I push the door open quietly, because I can hear voices inside, though no doubt they are muted by Johanna's bedroom door. So we sidle into the compartment almost soundlessly, and Mason seems to know not to cry. When we get into the bedroom, I pull down my dress and let Mason eat, trying not to listen to Johanna's low voice. I distract myself from her and Meetchum's conversation by looking down at my child while he eats. His facial features, though he's still young, are getting a little more distinct. He looks more like Peeta than ever, though he still has my nose. His lips are full and wide, shaped like Peeta's. I always pictured a child that came out exactly like Peeta, but somehow, his black hair, eyebrows, and eyelashes only make Mason more beautiful. I've never considered myself to be beautiful in the same way that Madge and Prim and Annie are, but still, the features that I contributed to Mason seem only to make him better, not worse.

When Mason finally eats his fill and has burped up a little of the white stuff, I change him out of his blue outfits and into his sleeping clothes, which is just a long-sleeved shapeless gray thing. But it's warm, which is always a bonus in this dank cellar of a district. I swaddle him in a thick blanket and instead of putting him in his crib, I lay him on my chest and pull another blanket on top of us. Like I always do when I'm bored, I flip through Peeta's sketchbooks. Mason starts to fuss a little and I sing another song to him, the one I sang to Rue as she lay dying. The first sketch is one of me in the Quell, my stomach just starting to protrude and round out. One of Mags, smiling and eating those nuts that I tossed into the force field. Her smile tugs at my heart, but my the pressure of Mason's small, warm body keeps me together. Another one of me, this time splayed out on the couch of our compartment, my stomach positively massive with pregnancy. Another of me, this time on our wedding day. Finnick, happy and bruised and bloody, laying in his hospital bed, Annie asleep in her chair, Johanna looking positively carefree. Prim, her eyebrows furrowed and her eyes focused on a patient. Me, me, me. Mason and I are present the most, our faces dominating nearly every page in equal amount.

I'm so caught up in the sketchbook and the babyish noises emanating from Mason's mouth that I don't realize that Johanna's voice has picked up a little. She sounds like she's pleading with Meetchum, which is odd enough to make me pay attention.

"Listen to me, Meetchum, please," she says. "I can't lose you to them."

"Johanna, don't you realize how miserable it makes me to sit here and do nothing? Meanwhile you and my brother and Katniss are out risking your lives for this," says Meetchum, and his voice is pleading, too. "It isn't like I'll be in an arena, Johanna."

"Don't you understand?" she asks, her voice somewhere between hissing and begging. "_Everything_ is an arena to Snow. Don't let him take you from me."

"What are you so afraid of?" asks Meetchum, sounding exasperated.

"Everything," whispers Johanna so quietly I have to strain to hear her. "I'm afraid of everything." I'm not shocked that she's afraid—after all, she's been in the Games, and I know she's still terrified every day of her life— but I'm shocked that she admitted it. "I haven't had this much to lose in years. I could lose Katniss. Peeta. Finnick. And I could lose you, Meetchum."

"Would you stay away from the Capitol if I asked you to?" asks Meetch.

Johanna hisses, "That's different, and you know it."

"Not to me," snaps Meetchum. "He killed my mother, too. He destroyed my district. I just want to do something to help."

"You can't handle it," whispers Johanna.

"And Peeta can?" asks Meetchum doubtfully. From the thud of his body, I ascertain that Johanna shoved him.

"Shut up about Peeta," snaps Johanna. "He survived two arenas. A lot more than you could've."

"We both know that he wouldn't have if it weren't for Katniss," Meetchum shoots back. I feel defensive, because it isn't fair that he thinks of his brother as weak, somehow. Peeta is the furthest thing from weak.

"Give Peeta more credit," hisses Johanna. "He's strong and he knows how to handle himself when he's in danger. God knows he's done it enough. But you, Meetchum? You've never fought for your life. You've never been somewhere that could make hell seem like a vacation."

"Why does it matter to you this much?" asks Meetchum, the defensiveness dropped from his voice. "Even Peeta's given up trying to convince me otherwise."

"It just does," says Johanna irritably.

"Why?" he asks again.

"Because," she says, and her words are angry, like she'd rather walk over broken glass than admit it, "Because I love you, brainless."


	46. Chapter 45

**Hi guys! I'm so so so sorry it's been so long since I updated. My damn computer fell off my bed and the screen shattered, which is no cheap fix. I'm using a friend's computer now because I didn't want you all to think that I left this story hanging. I've been busy as all hell, so that's another reason I didn't at least post an update to tell you guys that I was having computer troubles. Sorry the chapter isn't super long! I don't have a ton of time, but I wanted to give you guys a little something for being patient with me. As always, I don't own the Hunger Games, and if you guys have any comments or suggestions, leave me a review!**

"You're sure you're all right to do this?" asks Peeta again, his eyes shifting down to Mason, whose head is upright, his eyes looking curiously at Madge and Gale.

"Don't be silly," says Madge automatically. "You two hardly ever get any time alone anymore, what with the crowd of people who are always in your compartment. We'll be fine."

It's been three weeks since the wedding, and the invasion of the Capitol has been pushed back another month. It isn't as if we're losing ground in the war. We aren't. It's just that the troops in the districts need much more rehabilitation that was originally thought, and more training. Thirteen regularly bombs the Capitol, almost as a reminder that we will be coming, come hell or high water. Training has picked up for everyone, including those like Peeta and Gale, who have already finished. Simulated combat situations are run every day over and over, and Finnick and I are close to finishing our training.

Because of all of the extra training and propos that we still film, neither Peeta or I see Mason much during the day. I hate myself for it, because I'm his mother and I should be there to take care of him. I know it drives Peeta crazy, too—after all, following Mason's birth, Peeta had him all day while I was away. It's a bigger change of pace for Peeta than it is for me, but I still complain to Finnick constantly. Peeta's and my son is away with Haymitch or Peeta's dad all day while I'm stuck on the shooting range, missing him and missing Peeta.

Even so, everyone else has been so busy that they barely see him either, which is why Peeta and I grudgingly relented to Gale and Madge's request to keep Mason overnight. As much as I crave the feel of his small, warm body against mine, I shouldn't be selfish. If Peeta and I survive the war, we'll get to see him every day for the rest of our lives. _If_ we survive.

What I miss as much as my son is the brightness of Peeta's smile and the lean lines of his body, his carefree laugh and his careful, measured, optimistic words. I can't get enough of him lately, because of training and our extra responsibilities on top of it. If I'm not training, Peeta's off doing something for the rebellion. If he's free, I'm being shuffled in front of a camera somewhere. I suppose we knew it would be this way when we came to Thirteen, but I crave the quiet days in our house in Twelve more than I ever have before. Snow falling on the district, creating an eerie hush that spread from the Victor's Village to the Seam. Peeta's long, skilled fingers manipulating a paintbrush while I sit in front of him, trying to keep the blush from reddening my face. Long, quiet conversations in the stillness of night, him ruminating on the nature of humanity and me, trying to put my trauma into words, desperately hoping for some of the quiet courage that Peeta has to help me put my nightmares behind me.

Sometimes the short life I've had with Peeta doesn't even seem real, whether in Twelve, in the Games, or in Thirteen. For the most part, I've put my fear of loving him behind me. I've put the fear of letting him break down my walls somewhere far inside of my mind, not because he's weakened me but because he's made me stronger. I suppose I've finally managed to convince myself that the love we have is real, that it's powerful, that has a force that's undeniable.

Next to me, Peeta sighs shakily. I glance at him, and he's clutching Mason tightly to his chest, rocking him back and forth. I brush my fingers against his shoulders gently, mostly because I know that Peeta panics sometimes without Mason. Peeta's eyes shift to mine, and I know he's thinking the same thing that I am. That we're in this together, and we make each other stronger. I suppose we look at each other longer than I realize, because Gale says, "Stop doing that." I jerk my eyes away from Peeta and glance at Gale dispassionately.

"Doing what?" I ask.

"Looking at each other like that," remarks Gale.

"Like what?" I snap.

"Like you're the only two people alive," answers Madge, rolling her eyes at Gale and smiling at me. "Gale's being a sourpuss. I think it's nice."

"We don't look at each other like that," I mumble, embarrassed. I still don't like people making observations about our relationship, probably because we've spent so much time in the public eye, our every move and word being analyzed by everyone in Panem.

"Speak for yourself," says Peeta good-naturedly. Peeta presses a kiss on Mason's forehead and relinquishes him to me. I do as I always do: take inventory of his features and his health. Thick black hair, blue eyes, perfect little lips. I count his fingers and toes and run my thumb over his lips while he smiles a gummy little smile at me. While I study him, Peeta hands Mason's bag to Gale, who slings it over his shoulder, and says, "Okay, so in the pocket on the side, there's milk. If his cries are long, that means he's hungry. He likes when you sing to him. There are diapers and some toys in the middle pocket, and make sure you wrap him in his blanket before you put him down, because it's cold in this dungeon of a place."

Gale rolls his eyes and says, "You've given me this lecture a hundred times before. We'll be fine."

Peeta sighs and rubs his eyes, saying, "Yeah, I know. This is my first night without him."

"Chill out," says Gale. "We know where to find you if we need you." Gale holds out his arms impatiently, and I kiss Mason between the eyes before I hand him over. My eyes linger on his small form, almost hoping that he'll cry when he's away from me. But of course he doesn't, because he's used to being passed from person to person. And he's easygoing, like Peeta. If he were difficult and stubborn like me, I'm sure it would be a different story.

"Come get us if you need us," is all I say before Peeta tugs me out of Gale's compartment into the brightly lit, chilly hallway. "I miss him."

"Me too," agrees Peeta, but he puts his arm around me and draws me close to him. "I've missed you."

"I hate being away from you two all the time," I say, wrapping my arm around his waist so our bodies are flush against each other. "It's like they're trying to keep us apart. It irritates me."

"It seems like Gale and Madge understand," comments Peeta. "It was nice of them to take Mason so we can have some time together."

"Yeah," I agree. "What should we do?"

"I was thinking about home, earlier," Peeta tells me. I want to laugh, because so was I. But I nod and look up at him, my eyes focusing on the sturdy set of his jaw and the movement of his lips. "About the things we used to do together. Then I realized how much our lives have changed since the Quell."

"That's funny," I begin, "because after our first Games, all I could think about was how much life had changed since before the Reaping. Then it changed again."

"I know," says Peeta, smiling down at me. We turn left into a long corridor, and he says, "It seems like our life in Twelve was so long ago."

"Foreign, almost," I offer.

"Yeah," he agrees. He's silent for a while. We reach our compartment, and unsurprisingly, Johanna isn't home. Ever since her admission to Meetchum, she's been spending more and more time with him, either at his compartment or sequestered in her bedroom. So Peeta pulls me onto the couch and asks, "So should we try to recreate some of the normalcy of what our life used to be?"

I snort and ask, "You call post-traumatic stress and nightmares 'normalcy?'"

"Normal for us," he amends. "We've never been normal. Snow made sure of that with the Games. But we're still us, Katniss."

"You could paint me, then," I suggest, because that's one of the things he used to do all the time in Twelve. I get up from the couch and make coffee, feeling his eyes on me the entire time. When I's done, I set a cup on the low table and settle in next to him. His arm encircles me immediately, and I sag against him tiredly. At least today is a Friday and we can kind of sleep in tomorrow. Or have a nap. Or just not be miserable training and hardening our bodies.

"I love painting you," he whispers in my ear, his breath tickling my neck and raising goosebumps all over my body.

"I know you do," I whisper back. It isn't as if Peeta and I have been together for ages. Not counting the months we spent ignoring each other after the first Games, we've only been together for maybe a little over a year. I don't keep good track anymore, living in this dungeon prison. But we know each other in and out, like we've been together all our lives. Which is why it's odd that only his touch and his voice can rouse something ancient and carnal inside of me. Peeta talks all the time about how I still don't know the effect I can have, but he's blissfully unaware, most of the time, of the effect he has on me. I squirm in his arms so I can get closer to him, and he pushes a clump of hair that came out of my braid off my forehead.

This slight little touch feels like fire on my skin, and it must for him, too, because he groans and pulls me onto his lap and his lips find mine immediately. Like we're . . . what did Madge call us once? Magnets. His lips pulls mine in like we're magnets, and I'm trapped. But I don't mind being trapped, because I have nowhere else to go, there's nowhere else I'd rather be than here.

His hands are on my face and on my neck, pulling me closer to him. He groans when my fingernails scratch down his neck and pull at the top of his shirt. My fingers travel to the bottom hem of his shirt and I tug it over his head, desperate for him, knowing that years and decades of him will never be enough for me, trying to sate my acute need for Peeta, telling him how much I've missed him with my lips and my body.

After, he paints me. He tried to make me pose without clothes, but I was too embarrassed and worried that someone would see it. So he settled on painting me in a flimsy nightdress that was a wedding present from Cinna. I'm sprawled out on our bed, trying to keep a serious face as his fingers twirl the paintbrush around. It's surprisingly easy for us to fall into that strange relationship we had in Twelve, him painting and talking, me trying to articulate my thoughts so he can tell me why I'm so messed up.

"It isn't strange, Katniss," Peeta replies after I've said something to him about how even though the people I love make me happy, I'm still largely miserable. Because of what the Games did to me, because of the war, because of the knowledge that I've killed more people than I count, whether on purpose or accidentally. "The Games were traumatic. We're probably never going to get over it. Just because what Snow did to us makes us miserable doesn't mean that we don't love our family and friends, or that we hate our lives. It just means that he screwed us up."

"I know you're right," I sigh, brushing a piece of hair out of my face. "But-"

"Move that piece of hair back in front of your eyes," Peeta tells me, dipping his brush in water. I scowl at him for interrupting me but follow his instructions anyway. "It makes you look less guarded."

"Anyway," I say, shooting a hard look at Peeta. "I know that you're right, but it makes me feel like I'm ungrateful. There are so many people who love me, and you, and our kid, but still, there are some days when happiness feels impossible."

"Believe it or not, I feel the same way, sometimes," Peeta tells me. My eyes follow the arc of his brush over the canvas, and when he's done with the stroke, he stills and looks at me in the eye. "I love you more than anything, Katniss, and 'lucky' doesn't even begin to describe what I am. To have you, and to have Mason, it's beyond my wildest dreams. But the Games scarred me for life. Most days, you and the baby are the only things that make me happy."

I've always known that Peeta suffers the same way I do, but he's always been more easygoing. More optimistic. In general, a happier person. Even though I hate that he's scarred and he's suffering, I's a small relief to know that I'm not the only one who can't move on from the Games. This is one of the many things I love about him: he can be a voice of reason to my fears and he makes me feel like I'm not alone. I smile at him and say, "I'd still do it all again, though."

"It was all worth it, wasn't it?" he asks, still not tearing his eyes away from him. "Wasn't it? Just for a shot at real happiness?"

I nod at him, trying to be his voice of reason, and answer, "It was all worth it. There were good things that came out of the Games. You and me. Mason. If I'd never volunteered and you'd never been reaped, he wouldn't be here."

"Sometimes I feel that I can't remember my life before you were in it. Before Mason. I mean, technically, I was always obsessed with you, but I almost can't remember what it was like before you loved me."

"You're obsessed with me?" I ask, smiling wickedly.

"Completely," answers Peeta with a grin. His grin peters out after a minute, and he asks, with an insecure look on his face, "Is it ever like that for you?"

I sigh, because I'm not sure what to say. But after a minute of sorting my thoughts out, I say, "Most of the time, yes. Most of the time, it seems like I've been loving you forever and to think of a time when I wasn't with you is strange. But sometimes, not very often, I think back to what my life was like in the Seam. When I was safe, for the most part. When I wasn't afraid all the time, when the only person I ever really worried about was Prim."

I worry that my words might wound him, but he smiles at me again and says, "Yeah, I know what you mean. I miss the days when I wasn't afraid every waking moment. When I didn't have nightmares every night and when I didn't see the faces of the people I killed everywhere."

"Exactly," I tell him. "Though your body count isn't nearly as high as mine."

Peeta rolls his eyes at me, and says, "Katniss, you didn't kill the people in Twelve. I don't know how many people we killed in those hoverplanes, but you were reacting in defense of yourself. It doesn't count. You aren't a murderer."

This time, it's my turn to roll my eyes. "Yes, I am. I didn't even think twice in the Games, Peeta. Killing is like second nature to me. _You _aren't a murderer. You're the good one."

"I've killed three people," he tells me, raising his eyebrows in disagreement before turning back to the canvas.

"Three?" I ask, wrinkling my eyebrows and looking at him, confused. He only killed two people in the first Games. I didn't think he killed any in the Quell.

"Brutus," he answers, looking down at his feet. "He went after me and Finnick tried to lead him away from me, but I-I—I strangled him, Katniss."

"You never told me," I say.

"In my dreams, I can still feel the life leaving his body. I _knew_ him, I ate lunch with him, I threw knives with him in training," says Peeta, and his eyes look a little cloudy. I get up off the bed, ignoring Peeta's protests, and move to stand next to him. He tries to look at his feet but I grab his chin so he's forced to look at me.

"Don't do that," I say quietly. "Don't torture yourself and blame yourself. It was you or him, Peeta. You were defending yourself. If you hadn't have killed him, you might not be here with me. You might not have met your son. Don't do that," I repeat, gripping his chin more tightly between my fingers. After a moment or two of silent conversation, words passed between blue eyes and gray, I add, "You are the best person I've ever known. You are the last person who should ever be called a murderer."

After a few moments of silence, he says, his voice breaking a little, "I wish you knew how much I love you, Katniss."

"And I wish you knew how unbelievably _good_ you are," I tell him. "I mean it, Peeta. You're the best person I've ever known. The best father, the best husband, the best everything."

"I love you," he whispers again.

"Not half as much as I love you," I whisper back, before our lips touch and we throw all of our terror and trauma away, like smoke pulled from a burning room, before we let ourselves be happy and young, before we lose each other in the fire that is always kindling between us.


	47. Chapter 46

**Hey guys, I'm sorry for the extremely long wait and the short chapter. My computer is still broken and I've been so busy that I haven't gone to the library to update. I'll try to update more often from now on! Everything belongs to Suzanne Collins :)**

I don't sleep at all tonight. Neither does Peeta. We just sit as close together as possible, Mason laying stretched out on my left thigh and Peeta's right. Neither of us speaks, or does anything but look at our ten week old child who could very well be an orphan in a month. Or a week. Or two days.

Because tomorrow we leave him behind. Tomorrow we fly to the Capitol. Or, at least, we fly to Twelve, then take a train to the Capitol. Whatever.

I hear a sniff to my left and look up, just for a moment. Peeta's tears are nearly silent, nearly undetectable. Wordlessly—why do Peeta and I even need words anymore?—I reach up and wipe them away with my sleeve. Wordlessly, he touches his thumb to my mouth. Wordlessly, he kisses my forehead. My nose. Each of my fingers. Neither of us smiles. We just look at each other for a moment longer, then shift our eyes back down to our son.

His small chest rises and falls with sleep, and a bit of drool falls out of the corner of his mouth. He's the most beautiful thing in the entire world, the most perfect, the greatest thing I have ever done. And I might not be around to see him grow up.

Suddenly, I'm breathing hard and fast. My hands fly to my ears—like Annie, I realize, I'm crazy like Annie—and I'm making a weird choking noise at the back of my throat. Peeta's there in an instant, his long fingers trying to pry my own away from my ears. I want to tell him that I'm fine, I don't need to be coddled, but then again, I can't force the words out of my mouth.

See, Peeta and I have managed to create more than one beautiful thing out of this awful world. We love each other, obsessively and simply and unconditionally. We got married. We somehow managed to create the miracle that is our son. We won, didn't we? Finally, finally, after surviving two Games and half a war and so much trauma that we thought we'd die with the force of it, we won. Didn't we? It doesn't feel like it so much anymore, with the rattling of Mason's breath in the background, somehow blending into the sound of my own hyperventilating, somehow morphing into the quiet hum that is Peeta's voice. If we did so much good, why does it feel like somehow, we still lost?

"Because, Katniss, now we have something we're both terrified of losing," I hear Peeta say from far away. For a moment, my hysteria is put off by the amusing surprise that he can read my mind. But no, I was just thinking out loud, my frantic words running together like Annie's do sometimes.

I don't say anything back, at least I don't yet. I just clench my fingers around my ears a little more tightly, then with a heavy, shaky sigh, let go.

"I'm so afraid," I manage to whisper. "Of leaving him behind, of dying and leaving him alone, of never getting to see him grow up."

"So am I," he says. His arms tighten around me, and I realize that neither of us have any comforting words for each other. He is just as scared as I am.

"If it weren't for him," I sniff and say, straightening up and lifting the baby into my arms, "I wouldn't be scared like this. Of course I'd be scared for you, Peeta. I'd be afraid of having to live without you. But—" I stutter a little, because I'm afraid I'm going to cry, "But he's so helpless, he's so young. I'm supposed to _be_ there, I'm his mother, I'm supposed to protect him!"

"I know," he whispers.

We sit in silence again, this time our hands wrapped around each other's so tightly that after a minute or two, I can't feel my fingers. But I don't really care. Just his touch calms me down a bit.

For a moment, with Peeta's hand in mine, I think about the things I have that other's don't. A mother. A father—_sort of_, I think scathingly of Haymitch. A sister. Friends that love me. A safe place, even if it's drab and dull and depressing. A husband. The best husband in the world and best father in the world. A son.

I think the list again. A mother. A father. A sister. Friends. A safe place. A husband. A son. I think the list over and over again until I am practically screaming it in my mind.

When that stops being effective, I try a tactic that my head doctor suggested to me a couple of weeks ago.

Haymitch taking Peeta and me in as surrogate children, even though all Haymitch and I do is antagonize each other. My mother offering to do my hair before the Reaping. The young man who helped an old Thirteen woman find a place to sit during lunch. I try and think of every good thing that I've ever seen anyone do. After what feels like an hour of this, my breathing has returned to normal and I can look at my son without wanting to scream and cry at the same time.

"What are you thinking about?" asks Peeta.

I tell him the truth. "I'm trying to remember every good thing I've ever seen anyone do."

"You nursed me back to health in the 74th Games," says Peeta.

"You gave me bread when my family is starving," I point out.

"You drugged me so you could go to the feast and get medicine for my leg," he reminds me.

"You told me to run when Cato came back for me. After the tracker jackers," I say, scowling at the memory of the venom-induced haze I'd been in. The bodies of Glimmer and the girl from Four.

"You loved me," says Peeta quietly.

"You loved me."

He smiles at me. Just a small smile. Just the corners of his mouth turning up very slightly. But it's enough to warm me, to shake life back into the body that already feels like a corpse.

"It'll be worth it, won't it?" I ask. "Everything, all of what we've gone through, everything we'll go through in the Capitol. It'll be worth it for him. Right?"

"Of course it will be, Katniss," answers Peeta. He brushes a piece of hair behind my ear and smiles that beautiful soft smile at me again. "Everything we've done, everything we'll have to do, it's all for him. Everything will be worth it in the end."

"It's for us, too," I say. "So we can love each other in a world that doesn't try to rip us apart."

"For us, too," he agrees. "Imagine it, Katniss," Peeta begins, his smile reaching his eyes. "Imagine when he turns twelve. We'll wake up in the morning and feel a pang of fear. Nervousness. Terror. Whatever you want to call it. We'll feel afraid every day, for no reason at all. But then that day in June will come, and he won't be standing in the Square in Twelve with everyone else in the District, waiting for his name to be called. We won't be standing behind some rope barrier, clutching each other in terror, afraid it'll be him. We'll be at home, making lunch. Or in the meadow, picking flowers and chasing him around. Or in the woods, and I'll be watching you teach him how to shoot. And I'll be thinking the entire time how lucky I am, how grateful I am that we did all of this, and how every second of pain and suffering was worth it. And I'll be remembering that day on our honeymoon in Four, sitting on the tile floor of that bathroom, looking at the test that said you were pregnant. And I'll be smiling, because it's the best thing that ever could've happened to us. Imagine it, Katniss. Imagine not having to be afraid when he turns twelve."

And even though there's so much to be afraid of, my hand squeezes Peeta's, my eyes find the soft olive skin of my son's face, and I smile, too.


	48. Chapter 47

"All I can think about is what got us here," Peeta tells me. Mason is asleep, and it is the middle of the night. We're leaving him with Haymitch come morning, and it's tearing us up. So we try to find solace in each other.

"We got us here," I tell him.

"I know that," he says with a smile that's both sad and heartening. "I meant every moment of our lives up until this point."

"That's a lot of moments," I point out. I sit, perched on the table in the living room, drinking coffee so I don't have to sleep. He stands in front of me, between my legs, absentmindedly brushing the hair from my face.

"I keep thinking of one in particular," he says, his thumb catching on the edge of my mouth.

"Which one's that?" I ask.

"On the Tour, when I showed you my paintings."

I feel a blush heat my face, and look down at my coffee cup.

"That one's a favorite of mine," I say quietly.

"Why?"

"You were bearing part of yourself to me that I hadn't seen before," I explain, the blush crawling up my neck and settling on my cheeks. "This entire world locked away inside of you that was perfect and beautiful and untouchable at the same time that it was wounded and just as tortured as I was."

"You said you hated my paintings that day," he says, a small smile warming his face.

"I did," I say. "Some of them. But they showed me everything that you were. Perfect, imperfect, scarred. I loved them and I hated them."

"It seems like so long ago," he says.

"It was."

He's silent for a minute before he says, "What I remember about that day is the way the sun lit up your face and how gray your eyes looked. For so long, your eyes had been closed off and distant. But in that moment, I swear, I could see every moment of your life in your eyes, everything you'd ever felt and everything you felt right then. I thought then that I'd never love you more than I did right then, in that train car."

I can't say anything that measures up to what he says, not in a way so eloquent. So I say, "I remember what came after."

He grins at me, but before he touches me again, he says, "I was wrong, you know. I love you more than I could possibly love anything else."

"I know," I breathe. His lips are almost on mine when I say, "You're so perfect I don't even know how you're real."

"You're going to be the death of me, Katniss," he whispers, his lips touching mine, his hands in my hair, both of our souls, our hearts, our bodies, entwined.

As we lift off from the dungeons of District 13, I can see through the window of the hovercraft that it's raining. Perfect weather for such an awful day. I put my head in my hands and groan. Peeta's hand falls on my back, but it's small comfort for me now.

Mason has never cried when we left him; not when we left him with my mother for a whole day because we were busy, not when Madge and Gale had him overnight, not the one night when he spent the night with Peeta and Haymitch. But he did today. Peeta had put him, gently, into Haymitch's arms, while we were both fighting tears. He'd looked at us for a moment, like he was trying to work out why exactly we were leaving him this time. Haymitch had smoothed down a cowlick in his hair, and wrapped Peeta in a one-armed hug. That's when Mason started screaming.

The sound of it was like a bullet had pierced my skin and lodged itself in my heart. Peeta had started crying, and Haymitch was desperately trying to calm the baby down. I don't know if I was crying, but it felt like Mason knew that this time, we might not come back. He reached for Peeta, reached for me, and tried to wriggle his way out of Haymitch's arms. In the end, I had to pull Peeta from Haymitch's compartment.

Now, on the hovercraft, we don't speak. We don't really need to, because I know we're thinking the same thing. _How could we? He's only three months old. What if we die? What if he has to grow up without a mother and father? What if we never live to see him take his first steps, say his first words, go to his first day of school? _My hand finds Peeta's immediately. Now that we will be half a world away from our son for God only knows how long, Peeta is the only real thing I have left to hold on to.

"I love you," I hear him whisper. To my horror, tears spring up into my eyes. I cover my eyes with my free hand until I think the urge to cry has passed, then lean my head against his shoulder. I've spent so much time agonizing over Mason and whether or not he'll grow up an orphan, that I haven't really contemplated the very real fact that Peeta could die in the Capitol.

I can't imagine it. Can't even begin to think of what life would be like without him. Our son without a father, only bland stories about who he was, how perfect he was, stories that will never measure up to the real thing. Lonely nights in a bed too wide for just one, rolling over and not feeling him, asleep and heavy-breathed, next to me. His smile, wide and bright, never materializing in front of me again. No more gentle words and rough fingers in my hair, his voice groaning my name. No steady arms to bring me solace, no sweat dripping off his forehead and onto mine, no more beautifully spun sentences on the struggles and joys and futilities of our lives. No more Peeta. Just a dark gray room, beyond which lies nothing at all.

"I love you, too," I whisper back. It's all I can say to him right now, but it's enough.

Everyone in the hovercraft sits in silence, too. Finnick stares at the floor with unusual intensity. Johanna looks both ferocious and deeply unhappy. Boggs looks out the window. Madge and Gale are bent over a map, pointing at things that I don't care enough to look at. Peeta and I look at each other, wishing we were alone, wishing we were somewhere safe, wishing for the war to be over already, wishing to be free.

We land in Twelve not much later, where a makeshift transportation area has been set up outside the fire zone. We're on the ground long enough to go to the bathroom and eat something before we're loaded onto a cargo train, where countless soldiers sleep with their heads on their packs.

Being celebrities—I roll my eyes—Squad 451 is allowed a small compartment with bunks and dim emergency lights. Peeta and I share a bed, and so do Gale and Madge. There aren't enough for all of us, so Johanna and Finnick share a bed, too. The trip to the Capitol will take three days in this old train, nothing like the luxury, high-speed trains we rode to and from the Capitol

On the second day of the trip, while Finnick is off talking to some of the soldiers from Eight in another car, Johanna lies on the bunk above Peeta and me. I wish I could say something to her, figure out why she's so unhappy—though it's not hard to guess—but before I can, Boggs comes over with the screen we're allowed to use to talk to our family. We're the only squad afforded that luxury, because of our celebrity status, but this time I don't roll my eyes. Peeta grabs it from him, but neither of us do anything, because we don't know how to work it.

"Tap the blue icon in the corner," Boggs says neutrally. "Find Haymitch's name, and tap it."

"Okay," Peeta says, and thanks him. Haymitch picks up in record time, and both of us crowd our faces around the screen. Haymitch has Mason propped up in the sling that he's wearing across his chest.

"How is he?" I demand immediately.

"Fine," says Haymitch, waving away our looks of concern with annoyance. "He settled down pretty quick after you left. He just needed some Grandpa time."

"How's he sleeping?" asks Peeta.

"Pretty well," replies Haymitch. "I'm staying with your mom and sister, Katniss, while you're away."

"Why?" I ask waspishly. Over the last month or so, my suspicions that my mother and Haymitch are together are stronger than ever, and this doesn't help.

"It's easier," grunts Haymitch. "They don't have to find me in the morning before work to give me the baby. More convenient for everyone."

Peeta sighs, and says, "Thanks for taking care of him while we're away, Haymitch."

Haymitch mumbles something about it not being a problem, and unbuckles the sling so he can slide Mason out of it. I hear Haymitch telling us that Thirteen is giving the baby a formula supplement because it'll take time for the frozen breastmilk I pump to be shipped back to Thirteen from the front. I don't really pay attention, though, because I'm studying my son's face, in grainy detail though it is. His eyes look bright and blue, and he's cooing happily at Haymitch. When Peeta replies to something Haymitch says, though, Haymitch turns his head toward the screen and reaches a hand out.

"Hi, Masey," coos Peeta. "Daddy misses you so much."

"Hi, baby," I say to him. He makes a fussy little noise and reaches further toward the screen. I know that he probably can't focus well enough to make out our faces on the screen, but he knows our voices.

I look over at Peeta and his eyes have that glassy look about them, and I know he's about to cry. He doesn't though, because Johanna jumps down from her bunk and crowds her face in next to ours and starts talking to the baby. Mason doesn't react as strongly to her voice, but he knows it's her. Gale and Madge come to see him, but just for a moment, before finally the screen is handed back to me and Peeta. Just me and Peeta.

Peeta talks some more to Haymitch, and it's obvious that Mason is visibly agitated. He reaches for the screen again, flails his arms around when he can't reach it, and begins wailing.

"I'm sorry, guys," says Haymitch. "We gotta go. Be safe."

Haymitch hangs up before either of us can get a word in, and I know that Mason's cries are reverberating around in his head just like they are in mine.

As if on cue, the train stops for fuel, and a gruff man announces on the speaker that there will be an hour long stop, so it's best we get out and stretch our legs. Peeta and I both jump up immediately and make for an exit, because neither of us can hold our tears in for much longer.

As soon as we're outside away from prying eyes, I sob, "I'm a terrible mother, why did I leave him? Why did we leave him?"

Peeta pushes the heels of his hands into his eyes, but under them, I can see tears leaking out onto his cheeks. He gives a great rasping breath and I wrap my arms around him. He breaks down into genuine sobs then, and I'm not any better. Eventually we just sit on the grassy ground in District Five, holding on to each other like we're the anchors holding each other down, and cry.

"I miss him so much," I manage to get out.

"We can't die in the Capitol, Katniss, we can't," says Peeta between sobs. "We can't let him grow up without parents."

"I know," I say. "Don't leave me here alone, Peeta Mellark."

"Never," he says, calmer now. "Wherever you go, I go, too."

"We're a team," I whisper.

"We can't leave each other," he tells me. "We can't leave him."

"Don't die," I breathe.

"I won't," he murmurs. "I need you, Katniss. More than anything. Mason needs you. You're not leaving us alone on the planet without you."

"Never," I say.

"We've lived through two Games. We lived through bombings. A rebellion can't kill us."

"No, nothing can kill us," I say, even though we both know these are promises we may not be able to keep. But I know, somewhere deep inside of me, that we'll make it through this war. We've survived through too much to die when we're an inch from freedom. We don't die. We'll live to see the day Snow is strung up outside of his mansion. We'll live to see Panem's first election. We'll live to see Mason turn a year old. We'll live to see Prim's eighteenth birthday; the day she would've been free from the Reapings forever. We'll live to see the day Mason turns twelve. We'll live through anything, because that's what we do. We survive, together.

When the train screams its warning whistle, we stand and join the other soldiers crowding onto the train. The train that will take us to the Capitol. To Snow. To violence that will probably scar us forever. The train that will take us to freedom.


End file.
